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F  K  E  N   C  H 


AND 


BELGIANS. 


BY 

PHEBE  EAELE   GIBBONS, 

AUTHOR   OP    "  '  PENNSYLVANIA   DUTCH,'   AND  OTHER    ESSAYS. 


PHILADELPHIA: 

J.    B.    LIPPINCOTT    &    CO. 
187  9. 


15217 


Copyright,  1879,  hy  Pukbb  Kari.b  Gibbons. 


PEEFAOE. 


In  going  to  Europe  in  the  spring  of  1878,  my  aim  was, 
in  part,  to  describe  the  citizen  of  Paris  and  the  farmer  of 
France.  Endeavoring  to  act  npon  the  principle  that  five 
lines  upon  the  spot  are  worth  pages  of  recollections,  I 
brought  back  to  this  country  a  great  quantity  of  notes. 
From  these  I  have  already  prepared  two  brief  articles  for 
Harpers^  Magazine;  and  in  this  volume  I  offer  at  much 
greater  length  the  substance  of  my  observations  during  my 
stay  in  France  and  brief  visit  to  Belgium.  Not  often  have 
I  been  obliged  to  rely  on  memory  alone  for  my  statements ; 
but  I  crave  indulgence  for  any  faults  that  are  found  in  this 
book,  trusting  that,  as  a  picture  of  common  life  in  the 
places  that  I  visited,  it  will  be  found  to  be  at  least  as  accu- 
rate as  the  productions  of  the  average  tourist,  and  more 
complete. 

JuNB  2, 1879. 


CONTENTS. 


:p-a.s-t   I. 
PARIS. 


CHAPTER    I. 


PAoa 


Dieppe  to  Paris — A   Parisian    and    his   Residence — Seeking 

Lodgings— The  Wineseller 13-24 

CHAPTER    II. 

The  Wine-Shop — A  Walk  to  the  Exposition  Grounds — Barrack 
and  Soldiers — Paris  Streets  well  designated — Street-Cars 
— Titles — Post-Offices — Le  Steele  upon  the  Society  of  St. 
Joseph — A  Public  Square — The  Army — Africa — Fellow- 
Lodgers — The  Court- Yard — Children  sent  to  the  Country 
—The  Banker's— The  Madeleine 24-38 

CHAPTER    II L 

Exposition  Opens — An  Evening  Visit — MourniTig — The  Pro- 
fessor— Schools,  Churches,  Newspapers — The  Ex|)osition — 
Ecclesiastics — Restaurant  Duval — College  of  St.  Ignatius 
—A  Public  School— The  Porter— A  Private  Family— The 
Catechism  in  Public  Schools— The  Press  not  Free — Pub- 
lic not  admitted  to  Public  Schools — The  Deputy — Co- 
Education   of    Sexes  —  A   Guest — Beautiful    Paris  —  The 

French  do  not  Emigrate 39-64 

1*  5 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER    IV. 

PAGE 

Statues  and  Paintings  at  the  Exposition — A  Live  Group — Our 
Department  Behindhand  —  Educational  Exhibits — Book 
Notices — An  American  Lady  in  Paris — Lying-in  Houses 
— The  Milliner — The  First  Communion — Danger  of  being 
Run  Over — Taxes — Red  Republicans — Our  Cellar — Porce- 
lain Stove — Soldiers — A  Walk  to  the  Luxembourg  Palace 
— Mr.  Greard's  Office — The  Concierges,  or  Doorkeepers — 
Marriages — A  Permit  to  Visit  some  of  the  Public  Schools 
—Little  Dogs 54-66 

CHAPTER    V. 

The  Luxembourg  Gardens — The  Pantheon — St.  Etienne  du 
Mont — A  Baptism — Lycee  of  Henry  IV". — South  Ameri- 
cans— A  Lecture — Examination  of  Teachers — The  Catholic 
Clergy  —  Protestant  Divisions — Cheap  Washing  —  Ver- 
sailles— Decorations 66-79 

CHAPTER VL 

An  Asyle,  or  Infant  School  taught  by  Nuns — The  Inspectress 
— Prices — Octrois — In  a  Cage — A  Communal  or  Gram- 
mar School — Opinions  on  Religion — Separation  of  Bodies 
and  Goods,  and  Divorce — One  Coming — Catholic  Repub- 
lic*— Russian  Sugar — Expenses  of  War,  of  Public  Instruc- 
tion, etc. — An  American  Lady's  Dwelling — A  French 
Breakfast  —  Reputation  of  Americans  —  The  Communal 
School  again — Evening  Conversation — Evening  Escort     .  79-98 

CHAPTER    VII. 

A  Sunday  Morning — Pennsylvania  Laws  of  Marriage  and 
Divorce  —  St.  Augustine's  Church  —  Asparagus  Cold — 
MacMahon  and  Gambetta — Uniform — A  Protestant  Pub- 
lic School — Order — The  Catechising  at  St.  Augustine's,  or 
Preparation  for  First  Communion — Street  Sights — Boys' 
Manual  Labor  School — An  American  Woman  .98-112 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER    VII  I. 

PAOB 

Hospital — A  Creamery — The  Garden  of  Plants — Streets  clean 
— Selling  Potatoes — Talk  with  a  Mechanic — The  Napo- 
leons— A  Youthful  Stranger — Want — Scholars  at  Church 
— The  Girls'  Grammar  School  again — Girls  in  White  for 
First  Communion — Women  Printers — A  Republican  at 
the  Exposition — Registering  the  Baby's  Birlh — Various 
Items — A  Morning  Walk — Horses — The  Shoemaker's  Ser- 
vant— Artichokes — Not  to  Call  on  Ascension-Day — Teeth 
— No  Directories — Birth  Notices — Coming  for  Confirma- 
tion—A Catholic  Teacher 112-129 

CHAPTER    IX. 

Liberty,  Equality,  Fraternity  !— The  Month  of  Mary — What 
the  Government  pays  the  Clergy — The  Syllabus  of  Pius 
IX. — The  Conscience  and  Heart — Who  can  Vote — Prosti- 
tution— Catholic  Clergy  and  Republicanism — Fourierism 
— Economy  and  Neatness — The  Jesuit  College — Great 
Number  of  Strangers  at  Paris — A  Strange  Sound — No 
Public  Meeting  without  a  Permit — Food  left  at  Restau- 
rants— Shops  open  on  Sunday  ;  Shops  closed — Ten  Days 
in  Bed — News  from  New  York — Invite  the  Poor — Om- 
nibuses for  School-Boys — A  Lawyer— A  Liberal  Protes- 
tant— What  Victor  says — The  French  Metric  or  Decimal 
System — Officers  who  Retain  their  Places     .        .        .     129-145 

CHAPTER    X. 

Another  Infant  School  —  Salaries  —  For  whom  a  Parisian 
Votes  ;  for  whom  a  Pennsylvanian — The  Doctor — A  New 
Religion — Decorations — Girls'  Normal  School — Sunday 
Excursions — American  Bacon — An  Herb-Box — Victor's 
Marriage — Phrenology — Street  Sights  ....     146-161 

CHAPTER    XL 

Spending  the  Day  with  a  Parisian — Pere  la  Chaise — A  Boy — 
Anecdotes — Market  Gardens — Exactness — Peace  Societies 
— Soldieis — Rooms    to   Let — Doctrinal   Instruction  at  a 


8  CONTENTS. 

Normal  School — The  Communion — A  Little  Frenchman —      paoi 
Judges  and  other  Officers  appointed— College  of  St.  Ig- 
natius— Coal — Subject  for  a  Lecture — "Working  on  Sunday 
— The  ButignoUes  Market — Square  des  BatignoUes      .     161-179 

CHAPTER    XII. 

An  Editor — Permission  to  Print  a  Paper-^An  Office-Holder 
under  Louis  Napoleon — A  Laundry — Salary  of  a  Pro- 
fessor— Company  to  Dinner — Mechanics  in  a  Workshop — 
A  Seine  Boat — A  Professor  losing  his  Place — Baptism 
and  the  Communion  —  Peasants — Fear  —  The  Louvre — 
Cost  of  a  Festival ;  of  an  Army — Debt  of  Paris ;  of 
France — Insects — A  Third  Visit  to  a  Normal  School — 
Alone — Court-yards — Anonymous  Letter      .        .        .     180-197 

CHAPTER    XIIL 

Statistics  from  Oalignani — No  Great  Fires-^A  Dressmaker  a 
Politician — Paris  a  Great  Hotel — The  Shoemaker's  Men — 
Familiar  Talk — Censorship — A  Funeral  Invitation — Suc- 
cor for  the  Wounded  —  Chloroform  —  Notre  Dame — A 
Philadelphia  Lady — The  Idea  of  Glory — Seltzer  Water  ; 
Ice — The  Commune — Another  Laundry — Opinions  differ 
—A  Newspaper 198-216 

CHAPTER    XIV. 

Carrying  Bread — Currents  of  Air  —  Titles — Advertising — 
Morning  Walk — The  Shoemaker's  Wife — "  The  Genera- 
tion of  the  Empire"— Stealing — A  Welcome — Whipping — 
Peace — Theatres  ;  Prices — A  Beautiful  Illumination  .     215-222 

CHAPTER      XV. 

A  Concert — Office  of  Contributions — Patois — Night-Ball — A 
Fighting  Woman — Paris  Streets  —  Certain  Opinions — 
Jews  and  Americans — Interesting  Conversation  at  a  Din- 
ner— Americans  in  Paris — The  Press  not  Free — Statistiiss 
from  the  Exposition — The  Coming  Congress  of  Women — 
Irremovable  Judges — St.  Nicholas  les  Champs — The  Por- 
ter and  the  Baby— The  International  Congress — Banquets 
—Certain  Women 222-239 


CONTENTS. 
I»J^S,T  II. 

CENTRAL   FBANCE. 


CHAPTER    XVI. 

PAGE 

Going  Southward — A  Country  Town — Breakfast  at  a  Public 
Table— 1793— A  Farm-House- A  French  Family— The 
Court- Yard  and  its  Surroundings — Walk  to  the  Village — 
A  Wedding-Party — Piquette — Toinetto — Ploughing  for 
Rye 240-256 

CHAPTER    XVII. 

Caution — The  Chapel — Looking-Glasses — Snails — A  Delight- 
ful Walk — Happy — Butter  on  Bread — A  Lenten  Dinner 
— How  the  Farm  is  Divided — Sunday — The  Vines — The 
War  with  Glermany — Patriotic  Song— Bits  of  Talk — Fare  ' 
of  the  French  Soldier — Communes,  Cantons,  Arrondisse- 
ments,  and  Departments  —  Military — Duration  of  our 
Republic  and  that  of  the  French — Political  Parties — A 
Country  Girl— Fatherless  Children — Sources  of  Dispute  257-272 

CHAPTER  XVIII. 

Church-Bells — Patois — An  Argument  on  Wine-Drinking — 
Ignorant  Ones — A  Loafer — The  Village  Festival — The 
Lotteries — Dancing — The  Games — Rain  at  Night — For 
whom  they  Vote — The  Road-Inspector — Men  Drinking  on 
Monday — Women's  Labors  in  the  Field — Melting  Butter 
— Burying  the  Day  after  Death — Jews  and  Protestants   272-286 

CHAPTER  XIX. 

Visiting  the  Village  Schools — A  Nun  sells  Drugs — An  Argu- 
ment on  Different  Religions — American  Compositions — A 
Neighboring  Village — Refused  Admittance  into  a  School 
— An  Old  Statue,  and  an  Argument  thereon — Baptizing — 
Those  who  Object  to  Dancing — Commandments — Wash- 
ing Clothe?  in  the  River— Dining  and  Riding      .        .    286-303 


10  CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER    XX. 

Baptismal  Font — Ecclesiastics — Free-Thinkers — Talk  on 
Images — On  Divorce — The  Office  of  Charity — The  Pay  of 
the  Village  Priest  and  his  Assistant — The  Jews — Soldiers 
see  the  World — A  Day's  Work — Strong  Men — The  Ore- 
nier,  or  Garret — Wooden  Shoes — Harvest  Hands — Vint- 
age-Supper— After  Butchering — Walnut-Cracking — The 
Parlement  of  Marriage — A  Marriage  Settlement — Wed- 
ding Outfit — Wedding  Feast — Funerals — Restaurants — 
The  Six  Months'  Wash — School-Books — Wood  Scarce — 
Good-by        803-322 


T'j^:Etrc  III. 
THE    NORTH. 


CHAPTER    XXI. 

Journey  to  Cambrny^Priests — The  Cathedral — Fenelon — An 
Ex-Teacher,  his  Wife,  and  Six  Children — An  Agglomerate 
Population — The  House  and  Yard — Beet-Juice  on  its 
Travels— The  Garden 823-838 

CHAPTER    XXII. 

Visits  on  Two  F^te-Days — Flax — Bonapartists  and  Republi- 
cans— A  Calvary — Wood  in  France — Great  Folks  of  the 
Village:  the  Mayor;  the  Notary;  the  Rich  Lady;  the 
Cur6 — Renting  Lands — Old  Manner  of  Culture — Modern 
Cultivation — Roads— Umbrellas  on  Wheat — The  Field- 
Guard — A  Deputy  set  Aside — Ignorant  Voters       .         .  339-355 

CHAPTER    XXII L 

The  Church  Vestry — No  Fire  in  Church — Talking  in  Church 
—The  Girls'  School ;  the  Boys'— The  Holy  Bible— School- 
Books — The  Brewer's — A  Capable  Woman — Cemeteries — 
The  Wind-Mill— Sunday  in   a    Busy   Season— The   Red, 


CONTENTS.  11 

White,    and   Blue— Breakfast    in   the    Field — Respectful      page 

Summons — Patois — A  Village  Watering-Place — Pourchat 

de  Paris — A  Separation— A  Disagreeable  Village  Rumor  355-375 


BELGIUM.* 


CHAPTER    XXIV. 

Journey — An  Interesting  Family — Poverty  in  Belgium — Poli- 
tics— Property  Qualification  for  Voters — Fraudulent  Votes 
— Secrecy  of  the  Ballot — Ignorance— Talk  on  Religion — 
A  Golden  Wedding — Prayers  for  Rain  ;  for  Health — Old 
Marianne  and  the  Chaplets — A  Rich  and  Generous  Parish 
Priest — Village  Dancing — An  Old  Printing-House — Fes- 
tival of  the  Assumption — Hearse,  Orange  on  Black — 
Poppy-Seeds  and  Sleep-Drink 376-389 

CHAPTER    XXV. 

Carts  and  Dogs — Poor  Cultivators — A  Belgian  Farm — Trees 
Planted  —  Manure  under  Shelter  —  Potatoes  the  Main- 
stay— Painted  Window  in  a  Church— Silver  Wedding  of 
the  King  and  Queen — Soldiers — Fortifications — A  Great 
Village — A  Successful  Farmer — Going  to  the  Walloon 
Country— A  Flourishing  Town        ....  389-404 

CHAPTER    XXVI. 

A  Village  School — Call  on  a  Village  Cousin  and  on  a  Parish 
Priest — Another  School-House — Nobles — Madame  H.  and 
her  Son — Meals  in  the  Walloon  Country — Gas — Universal 
Sufi"rage — In  the  Cathedral  at  Antwerp — The  Prize  of 
Home 404-414 


FRENCH  AND  BELGIANS. 


PAEIS. 


CHAPTER  I. 

1878,  April  27th. — I  land  at  Dieppe,  in  the  north  of 
France,  having  crossed  the  English  Channel  from  New 
Haven.  The  most  striking  object,  as  we  approach  the 
shore,  is  the  great  crucifix  raised  aloft  with  the  image  of 
the  agonizing  Jesus,  the  head  surrounded  by  gilded  rays. 
And  next  I  notice  the  mansard  roofs.  It  seems  to  me  that 
there  is  more  dirt  and  more  freedom  than  in  England.  As 
I  wish  to  walk  out  and  see  the  town,  they  will  set  my  box 
into  a  little  room  free  of  charge.  The  only  question  asked 
of  me  by  the  customs'  officer  is  whether  I  have  any  tea. 
You  may  have  studied  French  for  years,  and  scarcely  un- 
derstand a  word  of  the  babel  which  strikes  the  ear  on  land- 
ing. I  walk  out  for  fifteen  minutes  to  get  a  glance  at 
Dieppe,  a  town  in  Normandy,  containing  twelve  thousand 
people.  Women  are  walking  the  street  in  caps.  There  is 
a  donkey  with  panniers  and  a  high  old  wo(xlen  saddle. 
How  many  women  on  the  street!  How  much  fish !  It  is 
Saturday,  and  the  market  is  still  animated,  although  it  is 
towards  noon.     What  quantities  of  women  are  selling  fish, 

2  13 


14  FREiSCH  AND  BELGIANS. 

mostly  or  entirely  without  bonnets,  but  wearing  white  caps. 
I  hear  that  the  men  are  out  catching  fish.  How  willing  the 
people  are  to  give  information  !  I  buy  a  large,  but  poor  and 
withered  apple  for  two  sous,  and  see  butter  in  an  enormous 
earthen  pot,  butter  which  smells  to  heaven  and  sells  at 
eighteen  sous  the  French  pound,  which  is  about  one-tenth 
lieavier  than  ours.* 

Upon  a  sign  is  "  The  widow  of  I^.  Angot  and  her  sons. 
Wines  and  Brandies."  I  lunch  at  the  buffet  of  the  railroad 
station,  the  butter  being  very  goo<l,  with  little  or  no  salt 

By  my  train  it  is  four  and  a  half  hours  from  Dieppe  to 
Paris.  Although  it  is  still  April,  and  far  north,  some 
horses  and  cattle  arc  already  out  grazing,  but  they  apjxjar 
to  be  tied.  Colza  is  growing,  with  its  bright  yellow  flowers 
of  the  color  of  mustard  blossoms,  but  larger.  In  England 
it  is  called  rape.  The  seeds  are  used  for  making  oil,  which 
is  burnt  in  France..  The  trees  are  very  pretty  and  striking 
after  the  bare  hills  around  New  Haven,  in  the  south  of 
England.  Afterwards  I  see  quite  a  number  of  wooded 
hillsides.  The  wo<xls  are  enchanting  in  the  tender  green 
of  spring  with  the  bright  sunlight ;  they  contrast  well  with 
a  manufacturing  town  through  which  we  pass.  In  my 
division  of  the  car  is  a  young  Englishwoman,  married  to  a 
young  Frenchman.  She  speaks  a  little  French,  and  he  a 
little  English.  He  says  to  me, — ours  is  a  second-class  car, — 
"  Will  you  permit  I  smoke  ?"  She  has  a  parrot  in  a  cage,  the 
same  that  was  on  the  lx)at  last  night.  They  live  in  or  near 
Paris.  We  pass  through  Rouen,  but  stop  only  ten  minutes; 
80  I  do  not  go  to  see  where  Joan  of  Arc  was  burnal.  The 
young  woman  with  the  parrot  tells  me  that  the  heart  of 


*  The  French  sou  nearly  equals  our  cent.     Twenty  sous  make  a 
franc,  worth  about  nineteen  cont». 


PARIS.  15 

Richard  Coeur  de  Lion  is  here,  and  that  I  can  be  shown 
the  church  by  paying  a  small  sum.  I  observe  after  leaving 
Rouen  that  the  ground  is  planted  greatly  in  strips  or  bits, 
and  the  expense  of  fencing  is  almost  entirely  dispensed 
with,  as  the  cattle  are  tied.  We  pass  through  a  number  of 
manufacturing  places.  Although  it  is  Saturday,  many 
clothes  are  still  out  drj'ing  or  bleaching.  We  see  the  broad 
Seine  often  between  Rouen  and  Paris.  Many  of  the  roofs 
are  of  tiles,  and  many  are  thatched ;  one  I  see  is  of  slate, 
but  I  note  none  of  shingles.  Although  there  is  fence  or 
hedge  along  the  railroad,  yet  a  broad  meadow  upon  the 
Seine  seems  to  be  undivided  for  a  mile  or  more,  which  I 
imagine  must  be  food  for  lawsuits ;  afterwards  I  learn  that 
low  stones  are  set  to  mark  corners.  There  seem  to  be  more 
tunnels  upon  the  road  than  we  have,  and  a  lamp  burns  all 
the  time  in  the  car.  On  one  of  the  little  patches  of  ground 
a  flock  of  sheep  is  grazing,  guarded  by  a  man  and  dog. 
Were  there  two  or  three  times  as  many,  it  seems  to  me  that 
they  would  cover  the  bit  of  ground  entirely.  Not  a  very 
beautiful  object  is  a  row  of  Lombardy  poplars,  so  straight- 
sided  and  tall.  Other  trees  are  trimme<l  nearly  to  the  top; 
as  I  suppose,  that  they  may  not  shade  the  ground,  for  I 
have  not  yet  learned  how  scarce  fuel  is  in  France.  There 
is  very  nice  agriculture,  but  the  hillside  looks  strange  when 
thus  cultivated  in  patches, — oblong  bits  of  green  and  bits 
of  brown.  At  a  town  stands  a  machine  marked  "  Force, 
20,000  kil.,"  the  French  kilogramme  being  about  equal  to 
two  and  one-fifth  of  our  pounds.  I  see  masses  that  I  sup- 
pose to  be  mistletoe.  These  are  dark  green,  and  look 
strange  upon  trees  that  are  putting  on  their  spring  foliage. 
Not  all  the  land  is  good  and  cultivated.  Some  is  gravelly, 
with  sorrel  growing  among  the  grass ;  and  again  there  is 
brush,  or  young  wood,  but  another  hillside  shows  greatly 


16  FRENCH  AND  BELGIANS. 

vari^ated  with  green  and  brown  irregular  patchwork, 
and  in  the  midst  a  village  or  town.  Approaciiing  Paris, 
we  pass  through  a  long  stretch  of  i)oor  ground  grown  up 
with  wood  or  brush,  or  lying  uncultivated;  aft<}rwards  I 
ol)serve  that  fruit-trees  become  numerous,  and  there  are 
pieces  of  cultivatefl  ground  stuck  with  stakes  like  pieces  of 
our  fence-rails.  These,  as  I  infer,  are  vineyards,  but  not 
yet  green. 

On  arriving  at  Paris,  I  see  that  the  people  have  not  the 
ruddy  look  of  the  English,  but  I  notice  one  plump  person 
with  a  good  color.  He  is  a  tall  man  in  a  very  neat,  long, 
black  robe,  and  he  is  an  ecclesiastic  of  the  Catholic  Church. 

Among  many  other  signs,  I  observe  one  of  Madame , 

midwife  of  the  first  class.  At  length  I  find  the  resi- 
dence of  tiie  gentleman  to  whom  I  am  esj)ecially  recom- 
mended. It  is  in  a  rather  handsome  quarter,  near  a 
celebrated  church.  Finding  the  number,  I  go  into  one 
of  the  stores  upon  the  ground  floor  to  inquire  for  Mr. 
C,  but  here  I  am  referred  to  the  concierj/e,  or  door-keej^er. 
So  I  enter  a  great  door  and  a  carriage-way,  and  on  the  left 
side  find  the  small  room  of  tiie  concierge,  whose  wife  tells 
me'  that  Mr.  C.  is  "  at  the  fifth,"  which  means  up  five 
flights  of  stairs.  I  enter  the  handsome  door  on  the  other 
side  of  the  carriage-way,  and  find  tiie  ascent  easy,  though 
long.  When  I  get  up,  there  are  two  doors  with  bell-pulls. 
I  ring  at  the  right  hand.  No  one  comes,  and  it  is  now 
near  nightfall.  I  sit  down  on  a  cushioned  seat,  and  a  gen- 
tleman comes  up  stairs  and  rings  also.  He  thinks  the  do- 
mestic may  have  gone  to  the  cellar.  He  says,  however,  that 
Mr.  C.  will  soon  be  in,  as  he  is  to  receive  some  gentlemen. 
He  has  called  to  tell  him  not  to  exjiect  him.  I  receive  the 
message,  and  he  g<ies.  Hearing  a  sound  within,  I  ring 
again,  and  a  woman-servant  comes.     Mr.  C.  is  in,  and  I 


PARIS.  17 

enter,  and  find  an  elderly  gentleman  with  a  Iwnevolent  look. 
It  is  he  who  has  been  expecting  me,  and  who  says  that  I 
shall  stay  there  until  the  morrow.  He  is  looking  for  his 
brotiier  and  wife  from  the  south  of  France ;  but  he  has 
heard  of  several  places  where  I  may  obtain  board  or 
lodging. 

Then  the  domestic  comes  and  conducts  me  to  a  neat 
room  with  a  waxed-floor,  like  the  rest,  with  a  mahogany 
bedstead,  a  wardrobe, — the  door  of  which  is  a  great  mirror, 
— and  a  French  clock.     Mr.  C.  is  a  widower. 

On  the  wall  is  an  engraving  of  Emile  Souvestre,  the 

author,  beneath  which  is  written,  "  Mr.  and  Mrs.  C , 

Souvenir  of  the  family  Souvestre."  Under  this  hangs,  in 
a  frame,  a  bunch  of  black  hair,  rather  long.  My  host  has 
kindly  inquired  whether  I  have  eaten,  and  told  me  that  he 
dines  at  half-past  six.  The  domestic  asks  whether  I  wish 
to  wash,  and  then  takes  me  to  a  little  closet,  partly  filled 
with  sticks  of  wood.  She  apologizes  for  these,  but  not 
for  what  is  worse, — namely,  the  small  amount  of  water. 
As  I  wish  to  take  a  bath  in  the  morning,  she  tells  me  that 
there  is  a  man  who  brings  up  two  buckets  of  water  for 
three  sous,  and  I  give  her  the  change.  Mr.  C.'s  rooms  cost 
him  about  three  hundred  dollars  a  year,  there  being  no  gas 
nor  water  introduced.  I  ask  Marie  whether  I  cannot  take 
the  things  into  my  own  room  to  wash,  but  she  fears  that 
there  will  be  spots  upon  the  waxed-floor.  A  man  comes 
"all  the  fifteen  days,"  or  once  a  fortnight,  to  polish  the 
floor,  but  the  spots  that  get  on  between-times  are  her  care. 
She  empties  the  water  out  of  the  window  of  the  little 
closet  into  a  large  funnel,  whence  a  spout  conveys  it 
down. 

At  dinner  only  Mr.  C.  and  myself  sit  down.  His  sons 
are  married  and  living  elsewhere.     We  have  first  a  clear 


18  FRENCH  AND   BELGIANS. 

soup  with  little  or  no  thickening,  but  with  bits  of  bread  in  it. 
After  this  an  omelet  is  served,  and  this  Mr.  C.  tells  me  is 
the  only  dish  addetl  upon  my  account.  There  are  two  bot- 
tles of  wine, — white  and  red, — but  only  the  white  is  opened. 
It  was  made  by  one  of  Mr.  C's  sons.  We  have  bread 
with  the  omelet,  and  after  this  course  le  potage  au  feu,  or 
piece  of  boiled  beef  with  carrots,  probably  the  same  from 
which  the  soup  was  made.  The  next  course  is  a  fine  cauli- 
flower, eaten  cold,  with  salt,  |)epper,  vinegar,  and  oil. 
Afterwards  a  bit  of  fresh  cheese,  oranges,  almonds,  and 
raisins.  The  housekeeper  will  observe  that  there  is  not  a 
great  deal  of  labor  for  the  domestic  in  such  a  dinner  (all 
the  bread  that  I  see  in  Paris  appears  to  be  baker's  bread). 
There  are  several  changes  of  plates;  but  the  number 
seems  to  be  adapted  to  the  supposed  habits  of  English 
and  Americans. 

This  is  quite  a  fine  house,  near  one  of  the  boulevards. 
It  belongs  to  a  widow.  On  the  first  floor  are  stores.  The 
next  is  the  entresol,  where  those  live  who  keep  the  stores. 
On  the  next  floor  is  the  apartment  of  the  owner  herself, 
an  appartetnent  being  a  suite  of  rooms.  Madame  the  mar- 
chioness, however,  does  not  occupy  the  whole  of  this  floor, 
but  rents  a  part  of  it.  The  entry  and  staircase  are  very 
neat,  and  are  furnished  all  through  with  the  same  carpet, 
this  and  the  entry  gtis  being  furnished  by  the  owner. 
Even  up  the  five  flights  of  stairs  the  floor  of  the  landing 
is  black  and  white  marble.  Entering  Mr.  C's  door,  we 
are  in  a  neat  little  ante-chaml)er  or  vestibule,  also  paved 
with  black  and  white  stone,  and  furnished  with  curtains, 
chairs,  a  hat-rack,  with  a  simple  bracket  for  a  candle,  and 
ujMm  the  wall  a  yellow  hand-bill  with  a  notice  of  some 
free  lectures  in  which  Mr.  C.  is  interested.  The  first  room 
that  we  enter  from  this  is  the  dining-room,  with  two  win- 


PARIS.  19 

dows  looking  upon  a  little  yard.  It  is  simply  furnished, 
and  l)eside  it  is  a  little  office  or  study.  Opening  from  the 
dining-room  is  also  the  door  of  the  salon  or  parlor.  Then 
there  are  two  sleeping-rooms,  the  bit  of  a  kitchen,  two 
little  dressing-closets,  and  the  water-closet,  without  water. 
Marie  sleeps  in  the  mansard  above,  a  flight  of  outside 
steps  going  up  to  it.  Her  wages  are,  I  believe,  nine  francs 
a  week.  In  her  little  kitchen  is  a  furnace  or  range,  covered 
with  tiles  or  plates  of  white  faience.  There  are  seven 
places  in  the  furnace  where  small  charcoal  fires  can  be 
made,  and  where  she  can  boil,  broil,  or  stew.  For  roast- 
ing there  is  something  separate, — a  sort  of  quite  small,  up- 
right, portable  furnace,  grated  in  front.  In  this  charcoal 
is  burnt,  and  a  tin-kitchen  or  roasting- vessel  is  set  before 
it.  Beside  the  furnace  is  a  shallow  stone  sink,  with  a 
great  earthen  pan.  There  is  an  earthen  pot  with  an  earthen 
lid  for  boiling,  and  a  number  of  earthen  pipkins  are  stand- 
ing round,  while  handsome  copper  and  tin  vessels  hang  on 
the  wall.  There  is  room  for  two  small  tables,  but  two 
persons  would  with  difficulty  work  in  the  space  left  va- 
cant. The  floors — that  of  the  narrow  passage  and  of  the 
dressing-closet  into  which  I  am  shown — are  of  tiles.  The 
room  in  which  I  sleep  was  madame's.  If  it  were  not  for 
the  regular,  rather  handsome  cornice  running  around  the 
room  I  should  think  that  it  had  been  partitioned  off;  for 
the  door  that  goes  out  into  the  narrow  back  entry  is  ap- 
parently cut  in  the  partition,  and  papered  over  with  the 
same  hangings  as  the  room,  there  being  just  a  little  glass 
handle  for  Oj^ening  it.  This  has  the  effect  of  scenery  in  a 
theatre,  especially  as  the  gilt  ornament  of  paper  which  goes 
around  the  room  near  the  floor  is  also  carried  over  the  door, 
all  looking  like  an  attempt  to  conceal  it ;  but  I  afterwards 
hear  that  such  doors  are  made  to  avoid  taxation. 


20  FRENCH  AND  BELGIANS. 

I  understand  that  Mr.  C.  and  his  wife  were  friends  of 
Eniile  Souvestre,  author  of  "  The  Attic  Philosopher"  [Le 
philosophe  sous  les  toits). 

Mr.  C.'s  father  was  a  physician  in  a  town  in  the  north, 
and  he  himself  was  a  teacher  and  lawyer.  He  now  holds 
real  estate  in  different  places,  and  has  retired  from  active 
business,  l)eing  over  seventy. 

His  wife,  who  was  originally  a  Protestant,  was  a  person 
very  highly  esteemed.  I  often  heard  her  spoken  of,  but 
obvious  reasons  prevent  my  mentioning  the  work  which 
she  established  in  Paris.  One  of  their  sons  is  a  cultivator, 
a  vine-grower;  and  the  otiier  a  machinist.  Mr.  C.  was 
originally  a  Catholic,  but  is  now  a  free-thinker :  he  says  that 
he  believes  in  God  and  in  the  immortality  of  the  soul. 
His  wife  and  he  had  only  a  civil  marriage,  which,  indeed, 
is  the  only  legal  marriage  in  France;  but  all  the  religious 
and  fashionable  world  add  the  church  marriage.  The  two 
sons  of  Mr.  and  Mrs.  C.  were  marrie<l  in  this  latter 
manner;  one  of  them,  I  believe,  is  a  Protestant. 

Mr.  C.  is  an  ardent,  a  devoted  republican ;  jwrhaps  this 
is  a  reason  for  his  receiving  so  kindly  a  plain  person  from 
republican  America.  When  he  tells  me  that  his  landlady 
is  the  widow  of  a  marquis, — "  Ah  !"  I  say  ;  and  he  doubt- 
less |)erceives  some  eagerness  that  displeases  him,  for  he 
adds  a  little  roughly,  "  It  is  no  matter  what  she  is." 

My  countryman,  who  gave  me  a  letter  of  introduction 
'to  Mr.  C,  is  an  ardent  advcxaite  of  peace,  being  also  of 
Quaker  origin.  But  with  his  sentiments  Mr.  C.  does  not 
entirely  agree:  bethinks  that  the  Americans  did  well  to 
go  to  war  with  Great  Pritiiin  for  their  inde|)endence,  and 
that  the  French  did  well  to  help  us. 

Sunday,  April  2Sth. — At  seven,  Marie  gives  to  each  of 
us  a  cup  of  very  strong  chocolate,  served  unceremoniously, 


PARIS.  21 

without  saucer  or  tablecloth.  Bread  in  the  loaf,  wine  and 
oranges  are  also  upon  the  table.  The  chocolate  is  too 
strong  for  me,  and  I  take  wine  and  water;  Mr.  C.  being 
kind  enough  also  to  bring  some  cheese.  At  eleven  he  will 
have  his  regular  breakfast.  He  has  ordered  a  hackney- 
coach,  and  is  ready  to  take  me  this  morning  to  seek  a 
boarding- place.  I  want  cheap  board  in  a  private  family 
where  English  will  not  be  spoken.  I  had  been  told,  how- 
ever, by  a  Frenchman  in  my  own  country,  that  I  cannot 
find  board  in  a  private  Parisian  family,  but  I  will  at  least 
try  to  obtain  it.  As  we  ride  I  hear  the  cry  of  something 
for  sale,  and  I  ask  Mr.  C.  whether  they  cry  things  to  sell 
on  Sunday.  He  answers,  "  We  don't  keep  Sunday  in 
Paris.  We  amuse  ourselves.  We  go  into  the  country." 
However,  I  am  told  that  there  are  good  Catholics  and  good 
Protestants  who  observe  Sunday,  but  that  the  greater  part 
of  the  people  do  not.  As  we  go,  I  observe  that  the  green- 
grocer woman  offers  spinach,  or  some  similar  plant,  boiled 
and  chopped  up  all  ready  to  warm  and  put  upon  the  table. 
We  enter  a  court-yard,  where  a  man  and  woman  are  card- 
ing wool,  and  a  street-singer,  probably  a  beggar,  is  chanting. 
In  the  fourth  or  fifth  story  of  a  house  we  find  the  family 
of  a  Lutheran  minister  who  take  boarders,  their  charge 
being  three  hundred  francs  a  month  for  children  or  young 
people.  Here  is  a  young  man  in  a  uniform,  which  indi- 
cates that  he  is  a  pupil  in  some  Lyc6e.  This  is  a  high 
grade  of  school ;  higher,  I  afterwards  understand,  than 
the  college. 

At  another  place  we  find  that  the  mothetof  the  family 
is  occupied  giving  a  lesson.  She  teaches  French,  and  her 
daughter  painting.  Six  Norwegian  ladies  are  boarding 
here,  and  another  is  expected  to-morrow.  We  see  two  of 
them ;  young,  well-looking,  and  well-dressed,  but  they  are 

2* 


22  FRENCH  AND  BELGIANS. 

not  so  genial  to  us  as  Madame  de  F.  and  her  daughter. 
Mr.  C.  sjxaiks  highly  of  this  family.  They  are  his  friends ; 
they  are  republicans;  they  are  free-thinkers;  they  earn  their 
own  living.  But  they  are  full;  I  cannot  board  here.  Mr. C. 
is  obliged  to  make  frequent  inquiry  for  some  of  the  persons 
he  seeks,  and  much  time  and  effort  is  thus  consumed. 
There  are  no  general  directories  in  Paris.  At  every  place  at 
which  he  inquires,  at  the  washer-woman's,  the  fruit-dealer's, 
or  others,  he  says  in  parting,  "  Thank  you,  niadame." 

At  length  we  come  to  a  wine-seller's,  who  has  a  shop 
and  little  restaurant  on  a  corner.  He  has  a  room  to  let  in 
another  building  upon  the  same  court-yard  as  is  the  house 
of  which  he  occupies  a  part.  I  will  call  him  Lenoir. 
Mr.  C.  has  been  here  before  me ;  he  thinks  well  of  the  man, 
but  does  not  like  his  wife.  We  go  up  with  Lenoir  to  see 
the  room,  which  certiunly  wants  the  mo<lest  elegance  of  the 
one  I  occupy  at  Mr.  C.'s;  indeed,  it  looks  as  if  house- 
cleaning  time  has  come,  but  house-cleaning  is  not  yet  done. 
The  room  is  about  eight  feet  by  nine;  but,  behold,  there 
is  a  dressing-closet  with  a  wardrol)e !  the  closet  being  about 
five  by  five.  The  room-floor  is  of  six-sided  tiles,  and  a 
good  sweeping  and  washing  would  not  hurt  it.  Mr.  C. 
asks  whether  I  will  look  at  the  cabinet, — it  is  customary  to 
see  the  cabinet.  Whereujwn  Lenoir  tells  us  where  it  is, 
and  Mr.  C.  quickly  mounts  another  flight  of  stairs,  and 
we  fincl  the  cabinet  in  an  open  corner  of  the  entry:  it  is  a 
water-closet  without  water.  Does  not  my  countenance  ex- 
press dejection  and  disgust?  I  am  offered  this  lotlging  for 
thirty  francs  a  month,  but  I  cannot  venture  to  take  it  for 
so  long  a  jKjriod.  I  will  merely  engage  it  for  a  week,  but 
must  then  pay  ton  francs.  Mr.  C.  makes  the  very  rash 
statement  that  all  the  ))eople  in  England  and  America  are 
accustomed  to  take  a  bath  or  wash  themselves  every  day, 


PARIS.  23 

and  Lenoir  consents  to  let  nie  have  a  bucket  of  water,  and 
another  bucket  to  empty  water  into.  I  can,  of  course, 
take  ray  meals  in  his  restaurant,  if  I  desire.  He  is  not 
accustome<r  to  coffee  with  milk,  but  he  can  take  some  milk 
if  I  order  it.  As  soon  as  I  take  the  room,  for  which  I 
pay  in  advance,  Lenoir  brings  a  piece  of  paper,  and  wishes 
to  know  my  name,  my  first  name,  age,  profession,  place  of 
birth,  in  what  department,  and  my  last  residence.  This,  I 
understand,  is  to  give  to  the  police. 

This  finished,  Mr.  C.  and  I  return  to  his  home  to  break- 
fast, where  Ave  have  an  excellent  steak,  very  well  broiled, 
bread  without  butter,  the  two  decanters  of  water  and  two 
bottles  of  wine,  and  it  appears  that  the  red  is  milder  and 
more  suitable  for  women.  There  is  also  cold  meat  and  so 
forth,  and  the  table  is  covered  with  oil-cloth.  In  conver- 
sation with  Mr.  C.  I  have  spoken  of  men  not  marrying 
in  France,  unless  tlie  bride  has  money.  He  rejoins  that 
marriages  are  made  upon  too  short  an  acquaintance,  say  of 
a  fortnight;  and  that  then  the  husband  has  mistresses,  and 
the  wife,  lovers.  "Is  it  so  now?"  I  ask.  "Not  so  much 
so  as  under  the  Empire,"  he  says.  While  speaking  of 
morals,  I  may  here  add  that  upon  a  conspicuous  street  I 
have  noticed  the  sign  or  advertisement  of  a  clothing  store, 
called  "  To  the  Good  Devil,"  with  a  figure  of  the  same. 
Then  I  question  whether  the  moral  ideas  of  the  people  are 
not  all  topsy-turvy.  Some  months  after,  however,  in  Bel- 
gium, a  young  gentleman,  speaking  in  French  of  the  par- 
ish j)riests,  calls  them  good  devils,  which  greatly  astonishes 
me,  till  I  learn  that  the  phrase  means  good  fellows,  as  we 
say,  poor  devil. 

After  breakfast  my  trunks  are  taken  to  my  new  lodgings, 
and  I  afterwards  dine  very  nicely  with  Mr.  C,  and  meet  a 
young  Swiss,  who  is  in  business  at  Paris,  and  who  is  polite 


24  FRENCH  AND  BELGIANS. 

enough  to  wait  upon  nie  to  my  lodgings  in  the  evening. 
Mr.  C.  advises  me  to  buy  my  candles,  instead  of  getting 
them  from  tiie  wine-seller.  He  says  that  he  always  buys 
his  M'hen  at  a  hotel,  and  his  sugar  for  sugared  wafer,  a  drink 
which  pleases  the  French  more  than  it  does  us.  My  young 
Swiss  stojxs  with  me  to  buy  the  candles,  and  says  "  Good- 
evening!"  in  parting  with  the  shopman.  Upon  the  stair- 
case he  kindly  strikes  wax-matches,  and  lights  me  up  to  my 
room,  then  giving  me  the  box.  What  a  continist  to  my 
Jiotel  in  London  is  this  forlorn  sjK)t  in  which  I  am  now 
domicile<l ;  but  only,  as  I  hope,  for  a  short  time.  And 
there  are  mean  places  in  London,  too. 


CHAPTER    II. 


Monday,  April  2dth. — Down  in  the  wine-shop  there  is  a 
little  room  or  closet  partitioned  off,  where  I  can  take  my 
meals,  if  I  choose.  On  the  breakfast-table  stand  two  glass 
bottles  or  jars,  one  of  water;  but  the  contents  of  the  other 
are  thicker,  and  there  is  something  in  the  Iwttom.  Is  it 
pepjjer-sauce,  with  little  jkxIs  in  ?  No.  I^noir  says  that 
it  is  rusted  water,  and  that  those  are  nails  within  ;  it  is  iron- 
water;  it  is  good  for  the  stomach  ;  people  drink  it.  I  break- 
fast on  hot  soup  or  a  clear  lK)uillon,  and  a  bit  of  beef.  On 
the  card  this  is  marked  ordinaire,  and  the  price  is  seven 
sous,  or,  as  they  express  it,  thirty-five  centimes,  for  in  their 
decimal  system  the  franc  is  composed  of  one  hundred  cen- 
times. To  the  foregoing  I  add  bread,  and  Ix'uoir  asks 
whether  I  want  wine.  No;  but  I  will  have  some  hot 
water  and  sugar ;  and  liaving  a  lemon,  I  make  lemonade. 


PARIS.  25 

He  brings  me  three  little  flat  squares  of  sugar  for  two  sous. 
The  price  of  a  good-sized  glass  of  ordinary  wine  is  three 
sous.  I  take  a  short  allowance  this  morning ;  Lenoir's 
card  would  certainly  afford  much  more.  He  has  a  man- 
cook  and  two  waiter-girls. 

To-day  I  take  a  long  walk  to  the  Exposition  grounds. 
On  the  Avenue  d'Eylau  is  a  sign,  "Protestant  Orphan 
Asylum  for  Young  Boys."  Another  is  of  a  girls'  school, 
conducted  by  the  Sisters  of  Wisdom.  I  fall  into  talk  with 
an  intelligent  woman  of  the  class  who  wear  caps  instead  of 
bonnets.  I  ask  whether  they  have  public  schools,  and  I 
understand  her  to  say  that  there  are  laic  schools,  belonging 
to  the  city  of  Paris,  where  nothing  is  paid  ;  and  also  schools 
of  the  brothers,  and  of  the  sisters,  where  nothing  is  paid 
but  for  books,  pens,  and  so  forth.  We  see  a  brother  in  a 
robe  going  into  a  school-building,  and  hear  the  sound  of 
children's  voices.  I  say  that  if  I  had  time  I  might  go  into 
the  s(!hool,  but  she  does  not  encourage  me  to  do  so,  say- 
ing that  they  will  be  forming  the  classes.  I  tell  her  that 
in  my  country  they  like  to  have  persons  visit  the  public 
schools,  thinking  that  it  encourages  teachers  and  scholars. 
We  speak  of  the  police,  and  she  tells  me  that  the  old  ser- 
gents  de  ville  are  called  guardians  of  the  peace,  which  is  the 
same  thing  as  policemen.  She  signifies  that  the  police  are 
not  so  much  regarded  here  as  in  England. 

On  the  Avenue  d'Eylau  I  see  cans  of  tomatoes  at 
twenty-five  sous,  whereas  in  Philadelphia  I  had  lately  seen 
them  as  low  as  six  cents. 

On  the  Avenue  de  Suffren,  near  the  Exposition,  there  is 
a  wonderful  drinking-place.  Wine  and  beer  are  drunk ; 
and  from  the  little  glass,  spirits  as  I  suppose.  I  meet  one 
man  with  a  red  face,  quite  drunk,  his  companion  support- 
ing him.      It  seems  to  me  as  if  about  one-third  of  the 


26  FRENCH  AND  BELGIANS. 

women  in  this  region  are  wearing  caps  instead  of  bonnets. 
A  good  many  soldiers  are  upon  the  streets,  but  not  very 
grand  and  warlike.  A  short  and  crooked  one  reminds  me 
of  the  colored  man's  tree,  which  was  so  straight  that  it 
bent  back  the  other  way.  These  soldiers  wear  wide  red 
trousers,  long  blue  coats,  red  epaulettes,  and  straight-np 
caps,  with  a  fumiy  little  straight  feather  in  front.  I  hear 
that  there  are  very  many  soldiers  in  the  fortifications  around 
Paris. 

When,  after  much  walking,  I  find  the  office  of  the  United 
States  commissioners,  I  am  told  that  they  have  gone; 
but  I  find  our  commissioner  of  education,  who  kindly  con- 
ducts me  within  the  grounds,  the  Exposition  not  yet  being 
0|)en,  and  into  Governor  McCormick's  office,  but  we  do 
not  find  him.  As  I  have  charge  of  an  exhibit  from  our 
country,  I  expect  free  admission ;  but  I  find  that  this  has 
been  already  obtainal  by  the  French  gentleman  to  whom 
the  article  was  forwarded. 

The  charge  for  admission,  however,  will  not  be  near  so 
high  as  ours,  being  only  one  franc.  I  go  to  the  restaurant 
Gaugloff,  and  cannot  get  coffee  with  milk  for  my  supj>er. 
They  say  that  the  milk  has  been  gone  for  some  time.  They 
are  selling  wine  at  four  sous  the  carafon,  or  small  decanter, 
very  small ;  and  coffee  with  milk  is  eight  cents! 

Opposite  to  the  Exposition  grounds  there  is  an  immense 
structure  of  stone,  and  a  great  court-yard  within  it.  Over 
one  door  is  the  word  "artillery;"  over  another  is  "cavalry." 
It  is  a  barrack.  I  have  seen  the  officers  of  the  octroi  of 
Paris  in  dark  green,  the  octroi  being  the  tax  collected  by 
Fnuich  cities  from  those  who  enter  them  to  sell  provisions. 
In  dark  blue,  I  see  the  guardians  of  the  |)eace;  in  dark 
blue,  with  re<i  stripes  down  their  trousers  and  with  caps 
and  spurs,  the  artillery  men.     Those  soldiers  with  helmets 


PARIS.  27 

are  liorseinen,  and  those  tall  men  with  blue  trousei's  are 
the  republican  guard  of  Paris ;  and  they  are  married,  a 
young  woman  tells  me. 

"  And  cannot  the  others  marry  ?"  I  ask. 

"  They  are  paid  more,"  she  explains.  The  pay  of  the 
common  foot  soldier,  besides  his  clothing  and  rations,  is 
one  sou  a  day. 

On  the  street  I  inquire  the  way  of  a  man,  who  asks  me 
whether  I  can  read.  The  streets  of  Paris  are  not  regular, 
like  ours  in  Philadelphia,  but  they  are  very  beautifully 
named.  Every  little  street  and  court  has  the  name  at 
every  corner.  There  are  pretty  plates  high  up  on  the 
houses, — plates  of  blue  faience  or  porcelain,  with  white 
letters;  and  all  I  notice  are  new,  except  a  couple  on  the 
street  Fourth  of  September,  named  for  the  downfall  of  the 
late  emperor,  or  the  establishment  of  the  republic. 

I  have  just  said  that  the  streets  are  not  regular;  they 
run  in  so  at  acute  angles,  that  when  you  are  crossing 
without  thinking  of  it— clatter !— drive ! — comes  a  car- 
riage. One  day  I  was  in  danger  of  being  caught  between 
two. 

After  supping  at  the  restaurant  of  which  I  just  spoke, 
I  foresee  that  my  evening  will  be  dismal,  spent  alone  at 
my  lodgings,  and  I  conclude  to  call  on  an  American  friend 
who  has  been  several  years  in  Europe.  Not  far  from  the 
great  stone  barrack,  I  find  a  railroad-office  for  tramways, 
as  they  call  the  street-cars.  We  rush  into  the  office  and  get 
a  round  ticket  of  pasteboard,  say  number  63.  I  do  not 
know  what  it  means ;  but  I  am  charged  nothing,  and  I 
take  it,  and  hurry  out  to  a  car  where  the  j)eople  are  show- 
ing their  tickets ;  but  some  are  before  me,  as  53,  54,  56, 
59,  and  these  must  have  a  seat  first.  I  remember  what 
great  difficulty  there  was  about  street-cars  at  our  own  Ex- 


28  FRENCH  AND  BELGIANS. 

hibitiun,  and  I  do  not  know  but  I  may  be  long  detained ; 
then  word  is  given  that  tliere  is  room  for  several  more  on 
top,  wiiicli  as  yet  is  quite  an  unknown  country  to  me.  At 
last  I  get  a  comfortable  scat  within  next  to  a  woman,  who 
is  quite  social,  and  who  tells  me  that  I  sj>eak  French  well, 
— a  grateful  compliment,  and  a  wonderfully  rare  one.  The 
conductor  comes  and  takes  our  six  sous,  and  behold  I  have 
also  the  privilege  of  an  exchange  ticket,  or  corrcjiporulance. 
I  must  get  out  at  the  Bam^re  de  Vt^oile,  and  go  into  another 
office  and  get  a  number  as  before.  This  time  I  get  into  an 
omnibus;  but  I  must  be  very  careful  to  hand  the  exchange 
ticket  in  entering,  before  the  conductor  has  made  up  his 
list,  if  I  do  not  want  to  get  into  difficulty.  And  I  must 
not  expect  any  driver  to  stop  if  the  word  complet  is  up  on 
the  outside,  showing  that  all  the  places  are  taken.  The 
omnibus  stops  at  my  friend's  door,  and  I  find  her  quite 
Imndsomely  lodged  at  the  second,  or  up  only  two  flights  of 
stairs.  There  are  some  elevators  in  Paris,  but  I  never  see 
one.  I  have  mentioned  that  my  friend  Mr.  C.  answered 
me  somewhat  roughly  when  I  was  impressed  with  the  fact 
of  a  certain  lady's  being  a  marchioness;  but  my  American 
friend  differs  from  him ;  titles  are  not  displeasing  to  her. 
I  think  it  is  a  duchess  at  whose  house  she  has  been  when 
that  lady  was  holding  a  lottery  for  the  relief  of  a  re<luced 
family  ;  and  the  conversation  turns  ujwn  one  of  the  Minis- 
ters of  State  or  of  legation.  A  amundrum  is  told  con- 
cerning the  late  empress,  and  a  bonmot  of  that  extremely 
etlifying  monarch,  liouis  XV.* 

I  remain  at  my  friend's  hoase  until  after  nine,  and  walk 


*  On  the  fall  of  Louis  Napoleon,  after  the  battle  of  Sedun,  Eugenie 
Bought  refuge  for  it  short  time  with  Dr.  Evans,  the  Amerioun  dentist. 
The  question  has  been  asked,  Why  did  the  empress  go  to  the  dentist? 
A  eaute  de  ae$  dents  (S^dun). 


PARIS.  29 

back  alone  to  my  lodgings,  about  a  half  mile.  I  stop  to 
inquire  the  way,  and  get  along  without  any  difficulty. 

Tuesday,  April  30th. — I  wanted  to  mail  a  letter  lately, 
and  I  found  that  there  are  offices  at  different  places.  Not 
far  from  my  lodgings  is  one  which  I  find  to  be  about 
the  size  of  a  post-office  in  one  of  our  country  towns.  There 
are  two  openings,  where  we  can  speak  to  the  officers.  After 
mailing  my  letter  I  inquire  where  I  shall  go,  or  to  whom 
apply,  to  find  whether  there  are  any  letters  for  me  in  the 
general  post-office. 

"In  order   to  change   your   address?"  asks   the  clerk. 

"  No,"  I  reply,  and  endeavor  to  explain  that  some  of  ray 
friends  may  write  to  me  without  knowing  my  number. 

" Poste  restantef  lie  inquires:  but  here  I  find  myself 
in  difficulty.  I  ask  who  is  their  postmaster-general,  and 
he  begins  to  speak  of  the  Minister  of  the  Treasury,  or  some 
such  person.  At  length  I  explain  to  him  that  if  letters  are 
not  called  for  at  home  they  are  advertised,  and  if  not  ap- 
plied for  then  are  sent  to  the  dead-letter  office.  No,  I  un- 
derstand him  to  reply,  there  is  no  such  thing  here ;  they 
would  stay  in  the  office.  It  is  very  convenient,  however,  to 
have  these  small  offices,  where  your  letter  can  be  weighed 
and  rccefve  the  proper  stamps.  But  if  you  mail  a  letter 
and  do  not  pay  enough,  the  person  who  receives  it  will  be 
charged  double.  I  prefer  our  own  plan  of  charging  to  the 
receiver  only  the  amount  still  due ;  but  then  our  post-office 
is  not  self-supporting. 

The  reader  may  observe  my  difficulty  in  conversing  with 
the  post  official.  He  who  has  studied  a  language  many 
years  may  still  find  difficulty  in  going  to  live  among  the 
people.  It  is  not  very  flattering,  when  you  enter  a  store 
and  deliver  a  carefully-prepared  sentence  in  French,  for  a 
man  to  jump  with  a  smile  and  ask,  "  What  you  like,  ma- 


30  FRENCH  AND  BELGIANS. 

dame?"  and  continue  to  speak  in  his  imperfect  English, 
fondly  in)agining,  perhaps,  that  he  speaks  our  language 
quite  well. 

I  have  received  word  of  a  private  Parisian  family  in 
which  I  may  be  able  to  obtiiin  board.  Lodging  as  I  now 
do,  and  taking  meals  at  restaurants,  is  a  lonely  way  of  life, 
and  quite  the  opposite  of  what  I  desired  in  coming  here. 

Posted  up  in  I^noir's  shop  is  a  handbill  containing  a  copy 
of  the  "  law  tending  to  repress  public  drunkenness,  and  to 
combat  the  progress  of  alcoholism."  I  would  like  to  read 
it  and  take  notes,  but  I  refrain  on  account  of  the  presence 
of  Ijcnoir. 

On  his  table  lies  a  copy  of  Le  Si^de,  a  paper  now  in  its 
forty-fourth  year.  Price  at  Paris,  thirteen  centimes  (about 
two  and  a  half  cents) ;  in  the  departments,  twenty  centimes.* 
The  leading  article  in  this  pa|)er  spciiks  thus:  "We  have 
asked  of  llie  Defence,  What  think  you  of  the  Society  of  St. 
Joseph,  which  recognizes  two  classes  of  trade, — one  ortho- 
dox and  well-minded,  the  other  free-thinking  and  repub- 
lican,— and  which  says  to  its  members,  You  must  enrich  the 
former  and  ruin  the  latter  ?"  The  Defence  answers,  "  Is  the 
buyer  no  longer  free  to  buy  where  he  pleases  ?  Can  he  no 
longer  choose  who  shall  supply  hira  ?  Assuretlly  the  buyer 
is  free  to  get  whatever  he  wants  and  wherever  he  pleases;  but 
does  the  Society  of  St.  Joseph  resjiect  the  liberty  of  its  mem- 
bers when  it  draws  up  in  advance  and  sends  into  dwellings 
the  list  of  |)ersons  from  whom  they  ought  to  buy  their  cloth- 
ing, their  provisions,  their  furniture,  every  objetJt  of  luxury 

*  Centimes  means  "  hundredths,"  one  hundred  making  a  franc.  Mod- 
ern France  is  divided  into  about  eighty  departments,  which  may  bo 
said  to  correspond  with  our  States;  but  tliis  is  a  consolidated  not  a 
federal  republic.  The  governors  of  these  departments  are  prefects  ; 
Apppointod,  not  elected ;  and  for  life  or  good  behavior. 


PARIS.  31 

or  necessity  ?  No ;  the  Society  of  St.  Joseph  exercises 
upon  its  members  a  true  inquisition.  It  is  then  we  who 
place  ourselves  upon  the  soil  of  liberty  in  denouncing  the 
Society  of  St.  Joseph  as  an  instrument  of  hatred  and  of 
civiPwar.  Nothing  is  more  odious  than  to  mingle  religion 
with  the  purchase  of  a  hat  or  a  cutlet." 


To-day  I  see  another  great  barrack,  and  marching  away 
from  it  a  company  of  soldiers,  with  knapsacks  and  without 
overcoats,  taking  their  exercise.  On  the  building  is  con- 
spicuously painted,  "  Liberty,  Equality,  Fraternity."  Op- 
posite to  the  barrack  is  a  green  enclosure,  a  public  garden. 
It  is  called  a  square,  for  they  have  adopted  this  English 
word.  There  are  very  few  within  when  I  enter.  On  a 
long  bench  sits  a  woman  diligently  darning  stockings,  and 
at  a  distance,  on  the  same  bench,  a  man  reading  a  news- 
paper. The  fountain  plays;  the  grass  is  clipped  and  very 
green,  and  on  it  are  a  quantity  of  little  birds;  there  is  a 
large  bed  of  flowers,  whose  fragrance  is  wafted  towards  me; 
horse-chestnuts  are  in  bloom ;  into  the  blue  sky  towers  the 
great  dome  of  St.  Augustine's  Church,  surmounted  by  a 
light,  airy,  ornamented  construction  and  the  inevitable 
cross;  behind  me  is  the  great  stone  barrack.  Beautiful 
Paris  !  All  this  the  more  beautiful  in  contrast  with  the 
dingy  quarters  I  have  left. 


I  am  told  that  at  Paris,  Versailles,  and  the  forts  near 
there  are,  at  this  time,  probably  from  forty  to  fifty  thousand 
soldiers.  The  whole  French  army,  without  the  reserve, 
amounts  to  about  four  hundred  and  fifty  thoasand.  All  the 
young  men  of  France,  at  the  age  of  twenty-one,  are  obliged 


32  FRENCH  AND  BELGIANS. 

to  oifer  themselves  to  the  conscription  to  draw  lots.  The 
levy  is  about  one  hundretl  thousand  yearly,  who  are  ol)li<;e<l 
to  serve  five  years.  Those  who  are  not  drawn  enter  the 
reserve,  to  be  recalled  in  case  of  war  or  necessity.  If  the 
two  Chanibere  demand  this  year  one  hundred  thousand  men, 
the  proper  quota  is  demande<l  from  each  canton  according 
to  its  population.  France  is  differently  divided  from  our 
own  country:  we  are  in  States,  counties,  and  townships; 
France  in  departments,  arrondisseraents,  cantons,  and 
communes. 

Madame  Lenoir  is  not  very  bland.  She  was  talking  to 
me  lately  aljout  my  wanting  things  cheap. 

"And  do  you  find  things  cheap  in  your  country  of  Af- 
rica?" she  wants  to  know. 

I  tell  her  that  my  country  is  America,  and  that  I  can 
get  a  cup  of  coffee  with  milk,  and  bread  and  butter,  for  ten 
cents;  and  a  glass  of  ice-water,  I  proudly  add.;  but  ice- 
water  does  not  profoundly  move  her;  even  my  American 
friend,  long  resident  here,  inclines  to  consider  it  unwhole- 
some. As  to  my  landlady's  speaking  of  Africa,  I  after- 
wards learn  the  importance  to  the  French  of  their  colony, 
Algeria. 

I  take  my  evening  meal  at  the  restaurant  Duval,  near 
the  Madeleine  church.  We  are  served  by  a  quantity  of 
nice-looking  waiter-women  in  black  dresses  and  white  caps. 
At  the  same  table  with  me  is  dining  an  elderly  woman, 
whom  I  suppose  to  l)e  a  storekeeper,  or  in  business  in  the 
neighborhcKxl.  I  wish  to  know  what  she  calls  the  women 
who  wait  upon  us:  docs  she  call  them  servants, — aerviteurs? 

"  I  call  her  madame,"  she  says.  I  afterwards  learn  that 
women-servants  are  generally  called  bonnes,  or  good  women ; 
the  word  domediqae  is  also  much  used. 


PARIS.  33 

I  have  felt  uneasy  with  my  surroundings  at  Lenoir's;  but 
Mrs.  L.  tells  me  of  respectable  people  who  are  in  the  build- 
ing witli  me,  honn^fes  gens,  who  are  making  money.  He 
M'ho  lodges  below  me  is  a  coachman,  and  his  wife  is  a  cook 
for  some  lady ;  and  above  me  a  tailor  sews  ;  decent  people 
who  are  enriching  themselves;  and  the  great  court-yard 
door  upon  the  street  is  closed  at  night,  and  I  need  not  be 
afraid.  The  little  servant-girl,  too,  offers  me  consolation 
when  I  address  her:  these  are  good  j)eople  around  me, 
not  fast  people;  they  "do  not  make  the  train ;"  there  were 
two  young  ladies  who  made  the  train,  but  they  are  gone. 
Strange  to  say,  I  ana  not  deeply  consoled.  I  had  been 
promised  a  bucket  into  which  to  empty  water,  and  when  I 
speak  of  it  the  little  servant  is  sent  to  show  me  an  opening 
in  the  wall  of  the  first  flight  of  stairs,  where  you  draw  for- 
ward an  iron  plate  and  pour  water  down. 

I  ask  Lenoir  whether,  when  I  address  a  religious  vvo.nan, 
a  nun,  I  should  say  madame  or  miss.  He  intimates  that 
this  is  a  nice  point,  but  adds,  "  We  say,  '  my  sister.' "  Is  it 
Protestant  ol>stinacy  that  induces  me  still  to  say  Madame 
in  addressing  one? 

Before  leaving  Lenoir's  I  endeavor  to  describe  my  sur- 
roundings. While  the  restaurant  faces  on  the  street,  the 
building  in  which  I  lodge  opens  only  on  the  court-yard. 
To  describe  the  buildings  around  the  yard  will  show  how 
closely  people  live  in  Paris.  Living  thus  piled  up,  the  houses 
are  more  imposing,  but  what  about  bringing  up  families 
without  a  play -yard  ?  Tlie  court-yard  is  paved  with  square 
stones,  and  measures  about  twenty-five  by  thirty-six  yards. 
First  upon  the  street,  with  its  back  to  this  court-yard,  is  a 
long  building,  divided  below  into  four  shops,  including  the 
restaurant  of  Lenoir.  These  are  kept  by  four  families,  most 
of  whom  occupy  the  back  room  behind  the  shop, — narrow 


34  FRENCH  AND  BELGIANS. 

quarters,  indeed.  The  family  of  tiie  concierge,  or  door- 
keeper, makes  the  fifth.  Their  door  opens  upon  the  car- 
riage entrance,  by  which  also  we  come  in.  The  concierge 
Ims  three  children, — one  of  them  away  at  nurse;  the  vege- 
table merchant  has  two,  and  the  other  three  families,  I  hear, 
have  none.  Above  these  shops  the  building  has  four  floors, 
and  there  is  a  family  on  each ;  that  on  the  fourth  floor  has 
one  child ;  the  rest  have  none.  This  building  is  the  one 
facing  the  street.  Now  enter  the  carriage-M'ay,  parsing 
under  and  through  the  house  just  described,  and  find  your- 
selves in  the  court -yard  and  in  face  of  another  great  house, 
the  front  of  which  forms  the  back  wall  of  the  yard.  Tiiis 
house  is  of  brick,  somewhat  ornamented  with  sculptures  in 
stone.  Once  the  brick  was  red  and  black;  now  it  is  dingy. 
The  ornaments  are  busts  in  figure  and  busts  in  bas-relief 
and  stone  facings,  which  give  it  an  air  of  nobility,  or  of 
having  belonge<l  to  an  old  family.  This  building  has  car- 
riage-houses on  the  ground  floor,  instead  of  shoj)s, — four  of 
them,  with  great  dark  doors:  they  are  called  remises.  Alxjve 
tlie  carriage- houses  the  house  has  three  floors,  occupied  by 
three  families  and  a  widow.  One  of  these  families  has  two 
young  ladies,  and  these  are  all  the  children  in  the  house. 
I  learn  these  particulars  from  another.  I  rarely  or  never 
see  these  jK'rsons  ;  once  I  called  on  one  of  them  on  business. 
The  widow  in  this  house  seems  to  he  a  rich  ladv,  with 
horses,  carriages,  and  servants,  of  whom  I  shall  s|)eak. 
The  smaller  building,  in  which  I  am  lodge<l,  may  be  said 
to  stand  between  these  two,  on  a  third  side  of  the  tx)urt- 
yard.  It  has  two  stables  on  the  ground  floor,  and  three 
flw)rs  above.  On  the  first  is  the  coachman  whose  wife  is  a 
cook  ;  they  have  no  children.  On  the  next  floor  is  my 
lodging;  and  here  also  is  another  coachman,  he  and  his 
wife  having  one  child,  which  is  still  in  the  country,  for  it 


PARIS.  35 

is  yet  the  custom  to  put  young  children  into  the  country 
with  a  nurse  who  suckles  them,  because  the  air  is  better. 
The  little  one  of  the  concierge's  wife  will  probably  return 
between  the  age  of  two  and  three  years.  She  says  that  she 
is  entirely  too  crowded  for  a  cradle j  the  child  is  about  sev- 
enty French  leagues  from  Paris,  and  the  cost  of  keeping  it 
there  is  from  twenty-two  to  thirty  francs  a  month  ;  in  the 
neighborhood  of  Paris  it  would  be  forty  to  fifty.  As  for 
the  rich,  she  says  that  there  are  some  who  suckle  their  own 
children,  but  many  employ  a  nurse  in  the  house. 

To  return  to  our  court-yard ;  nearly  all  the  windows  of 
the  great  house  with  the  stone  trimmings  are  furnished 
with  outside  blinds,  like  our  parlor-blinds  which  draw  up, 
such  as  were  formerly  much  used  in  Philadelphia;  but 
why  are  these  hung  upon  the  outside  of  the  windows? 
There  are  plants  in  some  windows,  not  so  handsome  as  the 
rhododendrons  at  the  Exposition.  The  fourth  side  of  our 
court-yard  is  formed  by  the  back  of  a  high  house  upon 
another  street.  This  high  house  has  a  little  bit  of  back- 
yard, separated  from  our  court-yard  by  a  high  wall.  There 
are  six  or  seven  floors  in  that  house.  In  one  window  is  a 
bird-cage;  and  canaries,  too,  are  in  our  court,  and  we  have 
music.  I  stand  at  my  window  and  rest  my  note-book 
upon  the  strong  grating,  which  protects  one  from  falling 
out  when  the  windows  are  opened  like  folding-doors,  open- 
ing in  the  middle,  as  so  many,  if  not  all,  of  the  Paris 
windows  do. 

Once  the  coachman  shows  me  the  horses  and  the  car- 
riages. There  are  three  horses  and  three  carriages,  which 
belong  to  the  lone  lady,  the  widow  who  has  five  men-ser- 
vants. It  is  very  neat  in  the  stables;  the  horses  have 
plenty  of  clean  straw.  When  the  coachman  goes  out  to 
drive  he  is  in  mourning,  and  I  notice  one  of  his  horses 


36  FRENCH  AND  BELGIANS. 

with  crape  at  the  ears.  Every  three  days  the  manure  mer- 
chant comes  to  buy  the  manure,  which  is  piled  up  in  a 
separate  place  from  the  stable.  I  say  to  the  coachman 
that  it  is  very  neat,  and  he  says  that  it  ought  to  l>e,  it  is  so 
small.  I  see  the  merchant  come  in  with  his  load  in  a  large 
cart  or  wagon.  While  he  is  loading  this,  he  seems  to  sep- 
arate the  strawy  part  and  roll  it  up  with  his  fork  and  place 
it  around  the  etlges,  as  a  barrier  to  keep  the  finer  from 
escaping.  Now  the  load  is  so  high  that  it  is  good  throw- 
ing. He  takes  a  ladder  and  mounts,  and  arranges  his  load 
carefully.  He  does  not  mean  to  lose  any.  Does  it  help 
to  make  that  great  asparagus  of  Argentcuil,  which  I  see 
for  sale  ?  After  he  is  gone  one  of  the  men-servants  goes 
over  to  a  fountain  or  hydrant  in  the  yard  and  draws  great 
buckets  of  water,  and  with  a  broom  of  twigs  cleans  up  the 
small  amount  that  the  merchant  has  left.  The  water  runs 
down  the  stone  gutter  in  the  pavement,  and  disappeai-s  in  a 
little  hole  under  an  iron  shelter.  In  one  corner  of  the  court- 
yard gits  a  woman  in  a  cap  carding  wool  for  mattresses.  It 
is  spring,  and  a  suitable  time  for  cleaning  house.  They  can 
0|)en  the  mattresses,  card  the  wool,  and  put  them  together 
again.  The  wife  of  the  concierge  says  that  the  wool  is  mixed 
with  hair.  This,  probably,  is  a  woman  who  goes  around  to 
do  these  jolw.  1  look  down,  too,  at  the  little,  little  kitchen 
of  the  concierge.  They  have  a  small  room  and  this  bit  of 
kitchen.  How  beautifully  clear  is  the  glass  of  the  lantern 
set  up  high  over  his  door  to  light  the  court-yard.  One 
night  when  I  came  in  near  midnight,  I  rang  the  lx;ll,  and 
tile  outside  door  seemed  to  o|>en  without  hands,  or  as  if 
the  concierge  in  his  r(M)ni  had  a  rope  to  pull  it.  It  seemed 
that  his  wife  had  gone  to  be<l  in  that  built-in  place,  or 
grejit  bunk  in  the  side  of  the  room,  and  the  curtains  were 
partly  drawn.     I  do  not  envy  the  |>erson  who  sleeiw  be- 


PARIS.  37 

hind.  A  beggar-woman  is  in  the  court-yard,  to-day, 
chanting  almost  like  a  priest.  Afterwards  there  are  two, 
a  woman  singing,  a  man  sometimes  accompanying.  Then 
she  speaks,  and  I  catch  the  word  "charitable."  Sometimes 
the  money  can  be  heard  that  is  thrown  from  windows. 
Upon  the  street,  beggars  are  very  rarely  seen,  except  the 
blind,  and  in  a  court-yard  where  I  afterwards  live,  beggars 
are  not  allowed  until  after  the  proprietor  has  gone  away  in 
the  summer.  To  return  to  the  lone  lady  ujwn  the  former 
court-yard  : — what  can  she  want  with  three  carriages  and 
three  horses  and  five  waiting-men,  and  how  many  women? 
How  do  such  people  pass  their  time?  She  is  said  to  be 
sixty.  The  concierge  tells  me  that  the  master  and  the 
coachman  of  the  other  carriage-house  have  gone  to  be 
soldiei's  for  fifteen  days  in  the  territorial  army ;  they  have 
gone  to  make  the  exercise  or  to  train.  The  master  is  a 
young  man ;  he  does  not  live  on  our  court-yard,  he  rents  this 
remise.  If  there  should  be  a  war,  he  and  his  man  will 
have  to  go. 

At  a  branch  of  a  well-known  American  house,  the 
cashier  tells  me  that  they  are  not  sufficiently  advanced 
here  to  have  bank-books,  but  they  give  check-books.  He 
says  that  in  France  separate  receipts  are  given  for  all  de- 
posits, which  is  much  more  troublesome  to  the  clerk  than 
to  have  a  bank-book  in  which  to  enter  tlie  deposit.  Here 
in  Paris,  when  checks  are  presented  at  a  bank,  they  are 
always  paid  in  cash,  but  in  America  and  England  bankei"s 
can  pay  with  checks  on  other  banks  where  they  keep  de- 
posits, which  is  a  great  deal  safer  and  more  convenient,  I 
receive  at  the  bank  a  note  of  five  hundred  francs,  which  1 
feel  inclinetl  to  ridicule  for  its  blue  impression  on  such 
common-looking  white  paper.      The  gold  coins  here  are 

3 


38  FRENCH  AND  BELGIANS. 

elegant,  and  the  silver  are  well  enough,  but  the  big  copper 
pieces  of  two  sous  are  as  ugly  as  tlie  English  penny. 


I  sit  down  with  my  note-book  at  a  little  table  before  a 
restaurant  and  ask  a  young  man  for  water  and  a  small 
glass  of  wine.  He  replies  that  they  do  not  sell  less  than 
a  bottle.     Then  I  ask  for  ice-water. 

"  With  sugar?"  he  inquires. 

"No;  only  ice- water." 

"  One  does  not  ask  for  water,"  he  replies. 

**Can  I  not  have  ice-water  if  I  pay  for  it?"  but  he  an- 
swers not.  Stupid  tiiat  I  am !  could  I  not  have  taken  the 
sugar  ? 

I  am  often  in  the  vicinity  of  the  Madeleine  church. 
The  sculpture  at  the  top,  in  what  I  may  call  one  of  the 
gable-ends,  represents  the  passage, — "  Then  shall  the  King 
say  to  those  on  his  right  hand,  Come,  ye  blessed  of  my 
Father:  and  to  those  on  his  left.  Depart  from  me,  ye 
cursetl."  Over  the  church-door  is  conspicuously  visible 
the  legend,  "Liberty,  Equality,  Fraternity."  While  writ- 
ing this  about  the  church,  I  occupy  a  chair  on  the  Place 
Madeleine,  or  open  space  near  the  great  church,  and  a 
woman  comes  up,  whom  I  understand  to  say,  "  One  sou  for 
the  chair;"  but  when  I  hand  it,  she  says,  "  Ten  centimes." 
When  I  give  the  two  sous,  she  hands  me  a  bit  of  paper, 
upon  which  I  read,  "  Seats  of  the  Promenades  of  Paris, 
Chair  Of,  10  c."  If  I  had  taken  a  seat  upon  the  bench 
near  by,  there  would  have  been  no  charge. 


PARIS.  39 


CHAPTER    III. 

Wednesday,  May  \8t. — Tlie  Exposition  opens  to-day.  I 
see  cavalry  in  a  street  near  the  Boulevard  des  Capucines, 
and  one  person  thinks  that  the  prince  of  Italy  is  there. 
Another,  who  seems  to  be  a  merchant  in  the  neighborhood, 
says,  "  It  is  probably  the  escort  of  a  prince,"  as  if  this  is  a 
matter  in  which  he  has  no  great  interest.  This  evening, 
Mr.  C,  the  gentleman  who  has  before  been  mentioned, 
receives  his  friends,  and  I  go  to  his  house,  and  also  see  the 
illumination.  Little  colored  lanterns  with  candles  inside 
make  no  great  show,  but  the  restaurants  and  the  churches 
illuminated  with  gas  are  much  finer.  When  we  leave  our 
friend's  house,  the  young  Swiss  gentleman,  before  men- 
tioned, kindly  takes  me  to  see  the  Place  de  la  Concorde, 
the  Hippodrome,  and  the  residence  of  Marshal  MacMahon, 
which  are  brilliantly  illuminated.  There  are  so  many 
people  upon  the  street,  that  I  ask  how  long  this  will 
be  kept  up,  and  the  young  man  thinks  until  two  or  three 
o'clock. 


At  our  friend's  house,  in  the  evening,  our  names  are  an- 
nounced as  we  enter,  but  there  is  no  other  introduction. 
Before  eleven  tea  is  handed  round  wMth  sugar,  but  no  milk  ; 
also,  little  sweet  biscuits.  Madame  S.  serves,  and  pours 
from  a  bottle  into  some  of  the  cups  brandy  or  other  spirits. 
One  present  hands  me  a  circular,  showing  that  his  wife  and 
daughter  keep  a  Protestant  boarding-school.  He  tells  me 
that  co-education  of  the  sexes  is  forbidden  by  law.     Our 


40  FRENCH  AND  BELGIANS. 

friend  has  illuminated  his  five  windows  upon  the  street, 
and  'way  down  upon  another  floor  some  other  windows  are 
lighted  by  lanterns,  but  all  the  rest  of  the  large  building 
is  dark.  I  learn  that  the  holding  of  the  Exposition  is  con- 
sidered a  victory  for  the  republicans,  as  it  shows  what  the 
nation  can  accomplish  under  rej)ublican  rule,  after  all  their 
reverses.  I  hear  a  statement  that  those  who  do  not  illu- 
minate are  Bonapartists  and  clericals.  A  literary  man 
present  becomes  very  animated  in  conversation.  I  en- 
deavor to  explain  the  views  of  certain  persons,  and  quote 
the  text,  "  There  is  a  spirit  in  man,  and  the  inspiration  of 
the  Almighty  giveth  them  undei-standingj"  but  the  literary 
gentleman  does  not  seem  to  like  the  expression  "  the  Al- 
mighty," but  to  prefer  "  natural  laws." 


Thursday,  May  2d. — In  a  mourning-store  near  the 
Madeleine  is  a  picture  of  a  nun,  with  the  inscription, 
"Mourning  is  a  worship  for  the  nun."  At  the  Madeleine 
they  are  taking  down  immense  dark  hangings  within  and 
without  the  church.  I  venture  to  ask  the  meanintjc  of  a 
large  D  which,  in  white,  is  upon  them  in  several  places. 
'*  It  is  for  the  name  of  the  deceased."  "  Is  it  for  an  eccle- 
siastic or  a  private  person  ?"  I  ask.  "  No,  madame,  it  is  a 
military  man."  These  hangings  I  understand  are  a  part 
of  the  funeral  pomps  of  Paris,  belonging  to  the  city. 
Within  the  church  is  a  large  man,  whom  I  imagine  to  be 
from  the  provinces,  come  to  see  Paris  and  the  Exposition. 
As  he  is  about  to  leave,  he  bends  a  knet^  l)efore  one  of  the 
stiitnes.  I  see  a  box  to  receive  offerings  for  the  poor,  who 
are  assisted  by  Mr.  the  Cure;  Mr.  the  Cur6,  being  head-priest 
of  the  church  and  his  assistants  vicars.  I  also  see  a  large 
notice,  "Offerings  for  St.  Peter's  |)encc." 


PARIS.  41 

After  leaving  tlie  Madeleine,  as  I  walk  the  street,  I  ob- 
serve at  a  height  upon  a  large  building  a  long  sign,  "  Great 

Lying-in  House,  under  the  direction  of  Madame . 

Consultations  from  one  to  five."  It  is  very  strange  to  me 
to  see  such  a  sign  so  conspicuous,  and  I  feel  as  if  there  is 
something  rotten  in  the  state.  But  of  these  houses  I  shall 
say  more  hereafter.  I  call  to-day  to  present  my  letter  of 
introduction  to  another  of  the  three  gentlemen  to  whom 
it  is  addressed;  but  I  do  not  find  him  at  liberty  to  oifer 
me  such  attentions  as  I  have  received  from  Mr.  C.  (or 
Carpentier,  as  I  will  call  him  who  entertained  me  in  his 
own  house).  However,  he  gives  me  another  letter  ad- 
dressed to  a  distinguished  person, — a"  professor,  and  a  writer 
in  one  of  the  journals.  Before  leaving  to  present  this,  I 
speak  of  the  recent  illumination  and  of  the  affair  being 
kept  up  very  late,  but  this  gentleman  says  that  the  restau- 
rants have  to  be  closed  at  midnight.  He  adds  that  it  has 
been  desired  that  they  should  be  kept  open  later  during  the 
Exposition,  but  he  thinks  that  this  would  not  be  favorable 
to  public  morals.  "  You  observe,"  he  adds,  "  the  condition 
of  our  streets  now?"     But  on  this  point  I  cannot  decide. 

I  seek  the  residence  of  the  distinguished  gentleman  to 
whom  my  new  letter  is  addre&sed,  and  am  so  fortunate  as 
to  find  him  at  home  and  kindly  inclined  to  converse.  I 
tell  him  what  objects  I  desire  to  observe  in  this  great  city, 
and  among  them,  mention  the  drainage.  He  tells  me  to 
write  upon  the  subject  to  Mr.  Prefect  of  Police,  and  he 
suggests  this  form,  "  I  have  come  from  America  to  study 
the  administration  of  the  city  of  Paris,  and  especially  the 
construction  of  the  sewers.  I  beg  you,  then,  to  grant  me 
permission  to  visit  them.  Be  pleased,  Mr.  Prefect,  to  re- 
ceive the  assurance  of  my  most  distinguished  considera- 
tion."    He  tells  me  that  a  woman  must  not  say  to  a  man, 


42  FRENCH  AND  BELGIANS 

Yours  with  re^^pect,  unless  he  be  an  old  man.  In  speaking 
of  the  schools,  he  tells  me  that  he  thinks  the  visit  of  a 
woman  to  their  schools  would  not  be  well  received  by  the 
Brothers  of  the  Christian  Doctrine.  He  adds,  that  simul- 
taneous instruction,  or  schools  for  both  sexes,  are  not  per- 
mitted, except  in  small  communes,  townships  where  the 
children  are  too  few  to  make  two  schools.  On  the  subject 
of  churchas,  he  tells  me  that  if  the  government  did  not 
support  the  churches  of  different  persuasions,  the  Catholics 
would  become  all-iwwerful,  adding,  that  at  this  time  the 
liberal  Protestants  can  scarcely  sustain  themselves,  as  the 
government  does  not  help  them.  He  means  at  Paris.  He 
speaks  to  me  of  the  great  controvei'sy  which  resulted  in  with- 
drawing government  support  from  the  liberal  Protestant 
church  at  Paris.  Guizot,  the  historian,  was  a  Protestant, 
opposed  to  Martin  Pachoud,  a  liberal,  having  a  chair  in  the 
Reformed  Church,  Mr.  Coquerel  being  his  suffragan.  The 
professor  adds,  that  Mr.  Guizot  told  him  that  liberal  Pro- 
testantism is  not  a  religion  but  a  philosophy.  I  myself  un- 
derstand that  the  views  of  the  liberal  Protestants  of  France 
are  like  those  of  Theodore  Parker,  or  advanced  Unitarian. 
In  speaking  of  their  newspapers,  the  professor  gives 
me  the  names  of  some  supporting  the  different  parties. 
Among  others,  he  mentions  L'  Union,  an  organ  of  the  Le- 
gitimists or  old  Bourbons;  Le  Soldi,  of  the  Orleans  party; 
Xe  Pays,  of  the  Bonapartists.  Of  the  Democratic  journals 
he  gives  these  in  the  following  order:  La  JRepublique 
FrauQaise,  La  France,  and  Le  Rappel.  All,  I  understand, 
are  daily,  and  none  bring  in  an  income  like  that  of  the 
Public  Ledger,  in  Philadelphia.  What  makes  this  paper 
BO  valuable  is  the  advertisements;  but  the  French  do  not 
advertise  freely  in  the  journals  as  we  do.  Of  another  cel- 
ebrated Parisian  pajKjr,  the  professor  tells  me  that  Figaro 


PARTS.  43 

is  a  rope-dancer ;  its  specialty  is  scandalous  stories ;  trav- 
ellers read  it  in  the  cars,  it  amuses  them,  but  it  is  not  fit  for 
families.  All  my  Parisian  acquaintances  who  mention  this 
paper  speak  of  it  in  a  similar  manner;  but  my  American 
friend  does  not  agree  with  them. 


Friday,  May  3t?. — A  very  noticeable  thing  in  Paris  is 
gilding  on  the  outside  of  buildings,  as  on  the  great  dome 
of  the  Invalides,  and  on  figures  on  the  Grand  0{>era-house. 
I  do  not  admire  it,  nor  what  I  may  call  the  tawdry  appear- 
ance of  the  latter  building,  which  cost  so  much  money.  I 
pay,  to-day,  my  first  visit  to  the  Exposition,  and  observe  a 
fine  figure  in  marble  of  a  wounded  soldier,  which  reminds 
me  of  the  Dying  Gladiator ;  but  why  a  nude,  or  nearly 
nude,  figure  should  wear  an  immense  helmet  with  a  tail 
streaming  from  it,  I  cannot  tell. 

In  one  of  Miss  Biddy  Fudge's  letters  from  France,  as 
given  by  Tom  Moore,  that  young  lady  laments  that 

Not  a  monk  can  bo  had  now  for  love  or  for  money, 
All  owing,  Pa  says,  to  that  infidel  Boney. 

If  she  were  thus  dissatisfied  with  Napoleon  I.,  she  would 
be  gratified  at  Paris  now,  where  so  many  ecclesiastics  are 
walking  about  in  petticoats  and  long  robes  (if  these  are  the 
names  of  their  articles  of  dress).  They  are  seen  at  the 
Exposition,  which  is  not  surprising,  for  they  are  considered 
to  be  men  of  peace,  and  this  is  a  peaceable  competition. 
On  the  streets  there  would  be  more  soldiers  than  in  the 
Exposition.  The  common  soldier,  with  one  sou  a  day,  can 
scarcely  afford  to  visit  it. 

I  am  recommended  to  the  restaurant  Duval  upon  the 
grounds,  and  here  I  find  the  same  class  of  neat  women- 


44  FRENCH  AND  BELQIASS. 

waiters  as  at  their  j)lace  near  the  Madeleine  church. 
Should  we  have  another  great  affair  of  the  kind,  some  of 
our  restaurant-keejKM's  may  learn  a  les«on  from  their  exact- 
ness in  keeping  accounts.  As  you  enter,  a  person  hands 
you  a  list  of  their  establishments  and  of  what  they  furnish. 
Afterwards  the  waiter  takes  the  list,  and  makes  little  pencil 
marks  opposite  to  the  things  you  order;  or,  if  the  article  be 
not  on  the  j)rinted  list,  she  sets  her  mark  beside  another  of 
the  same  ])rice.  When  done,  you  go  and  hand  this  to  a 
woman-<'a.shier,  who  quickly  sums  up  the  account;  you 
pay  her,  she  stamps  the  list,  and  as  you  go  out  you  hand  it 
to  a  man  in  waiting. 

At  the  ExjKJsition,  one  of  my  countrymen  says  to  me, 
"  Have  you  seen  the  gospel-distributi(m  stands,  where  the 
English  are  distributing  gosjK'ls  and  tracts?  The  French 
are  quite  eager  to  receive  them." 


May  4th. — I  am  going  to  leave  Lenoir's  before  the  week 
expires.  My  room,  small  as  it  is,  is  taken  by  a  man  and 
woman.  I  see  her,  and  am  pleased  with  her  looks.  I  ask 
I^enoir  whether  they  can  cook  there.  No,  although  there  is 
indeed  a  pi|)e-hole  for  a  stove  in  winter. 

"And  where  will  they  get  their  meals?"  I  ask. 
■  With  a  gesture,  he  answers,  "  Every  one  is  free,"  to  eat 
with  him  or  elsewhere. 

This  is  Saturday,  and  I  have  not  got  over  the  impression 
that  I  must  buy  things  to-day,  l)eciiuse  to-moriow  is  Sun- 
day. On  the  street,  I  see  nice-looking  boys  trooping  out 
from  a  door;  they  wear  a  slightly-marked  dress,  with 
siiowy  buttons ;  some  of  them  seem  to  be  in  charge  of  young 
women.  A  gentleman  kisses  one  of  the  boys*  Near  the 
close  of  the  troop  two  ecclesiastics  ap|)ear,  and  then  two  or 


PARIS.  45 

three  men  in  citizen's  dress.  Of  one  of  tliem,  carrying  a 
portfolio,  I  ask  what  the  place  is,  and  am  told  that  it  is  the 
College  St.  Ignatius,  conducted  by  the  Jesuits.  I  go  round 
to  try  to  find  the  front  of  the  building;  Imt  upon  another 
street  I  see  another  long  building  from  which  scholars 
are  coming  out,  not  so  much  dressed,  it  seems  to  me,  as  our 
public  school-children ;  for  almost  none  of  the  girls  wear 
bonnets.  Above  the  first  story  of  the  building  is  cut  in 
large  letters,  "Liberty,  Equality,  Fraternity.  Communal 
school  of  young  boys.  Primary  instruction."  From  the 
building  floats  the  tricolored  banner.  On  a  board  over  one 
door  is  painted,  "  City  of  Paris,"  with  the  number  of  the 
ward  and  the  words,  "Communal  Laic  School  for  Young 
Girls."  The  other  door  is  for  the  boys,  and  on  a  neat  board  at 
the  door  is  a  notice  of  the  hours  of  evening  school.  This  is 
a  public  school,  not  under  the  care  of  the  clergy,  and  in  grade 
similar  to  our  grammar-schools.  No  yard  is  in  front  of 
the  school-house,  nor  is  one  seen  at  either  end;  there  is  no 
eflPort  at  elegant  architecture,  and  none  of  the  pride  of  nam- 
ing the  school  for  a  public  citizen;  little  or  none  of  the  dis- 
tinguished appearance  which  marks  some  of  our  schools  at 
home.  So  I  surmise  that  distinction  is  for  the  military  man, 
and  remember,  too,  the  great  Trocadero  upon  the  Exposi- 
tion grounds,  which,  I  hear,  is  built  at  the  expense  of  the 
city  for  festivals.  It  is,  indeed,  however,  used  for  a  part 
of  the  Exposition. 

I  enter  the  boys'  end  of  the  school-house,  before  men- 
tioned, and  find  a  neat  hall  paved  with  stone.  Between  this 
and  the  girls'  department  is  a  room,  labelled  "Concierge." 

Hanging  in  the  school-hall  is  a  handsomely-framed  blue 
paper,  a  tablet  of  honor,  and  on  white  slips  are  introduced 
the  names  of  the  pupils  distinguished.  Thus  runs  the  list 
of  subjects,  each  followed  by  pupils*  names :  Religious  in- 

8* 


46  FRENCH  AND  BELGIANS. 

striiction,  reading,  good  behavior,  writing,  orthography, 
arithmetic,  duties,  liistory  and  geography,  assiduity,  recita- 
tion, gymnastics,  application.  Singing  has  only  one  name, 
and  drawing  four.  Duties  or  devoirs  I  understand  to  be 
such  exercises  as  compositions,  and  examples  in  arithmetic, 
attended  to  out  of  regular  school-hours.  Tiie  scholars  enter 
at  nine  and  remain  till  twelve,  and  again  from  one  to  four. 
Thursday  is  the  holiday  instead  of  Saturday.  Going  up 
stairs  I  find  the  principal  in  one  of  the  school-rooms;  he, 
with  his  family,  living  in  the  school-building,  as  is  cus- 
tomary. He  tells  me  that  religious  instruction  in  these 
schools  includes  the  catechism.  I  learn,  too,  from  him  that 
I  cannot  visit  the  public  schools  without  permission,  and 
that  I  should  apply  to  the  Prefect  of  the  Seine,  or  to  Mr. 
Gr6ard,  who  is  at  the  head  of  primary  instruction  in  this 
department.  I  tell  the  teacher  that  such  religious  instruc- 
tion would  never  do  in  our  country ;  that  we  have  had 
trouble  enough  between  Protestants  and  Catholics  about 
reading  the  Scriptures  in  the  schools.  It  seems  to  me  that 
he  is  uneasy;  perhaps  because  two  of  the  boys  are  within 
hearing.* 

This  is  the  day  that  I  am  to  remove  to  my  new  lo<lging8. 
I  liejir  that  there  is  a.  commissaire  or  porter  at  Lenoir's,  and 
I  appoint  a  time  for  him  to  come,  and  the  poor  little  man 
seems  to  make  a  note  of  it,  but  the  hour  comes,  and  not  the 
man.     Down  stairs  I  go,  out  of  the  court-yard,  and  to  the 

*  According  to  report,  the  number  of  schools  of  this  grade— or  pri- 
mary, as  they  are  called  in  France — was,  in  1877,  71, 547,  of  which  9352 
were  entirely  gratuitous.  The  number  of  these  schools  under  cliarge 
of  the  clergy,  or  congi'eganinte,  was  abmit  20,000,  employing  0-108  nicn 
and  37,216  women.  Instruction  by  the  laity  employs  about  24,000 
men  and  22,000  women. 


PARIS.  47 

street-corner,  wliere,  at  Lenoir's  door,  he  sits  looking  so 
clean  in  his  striped  cotton  trousers. 

Then  he  takes  his  ci'oche,  or  the  little  wooden  thing  that 
he  puts  upon  his  back,  and  putting  the  larger  and  smaller 
trunks  upon  it,  carries  them  down,  and,  when  at  his  journey's 
end,  up  three  flights  of  stairs.  The  charge  is  a  franc  and  a 
half,  but  I  add  a  trifle.  Poor  little  man !  I  understand 
him  that  he  is  from  near  Switzerland, "  from  that  great  lake 
which  runs  into  the  Rhone.'* 

My  new  boarding-house  pleases  me,  for  I  am  placed  in  a 
French  private  family,  at  the  moderate  rate  of  forty  francs 
a  week.  Victor  Leblanc  and  his  wife  are  young  married 
people.  He  is  lame,  but  very  industrious  in  the  house, 
keeping  no  servant.  Their  apartment  is  somewhat  showy, 
with  a  piano  and  bronzes,  but  it  is  small,  and  they  have  put 
a  bed  for  me  into  their  little  parlor  or  salon.  Victor  is  a 
book-keeper.  He  seems,  too,  to  have  adaptability,  savoir 
faire.  He  has  tools,  and  if  he  wants  a  closet  can  run  up  a 
partition  himself.  I  will  take  the  liberty  of  adding  what 
an  elderly  French  gentleman  told  me, — that  Victor  wished 
to  be  sage ;  he  married  young ;  and  that  madame  is  preg- 
nant ;  she  is  going  to  take  her  bed.  After  my  arrival,  or 
about  seven  in  the  evening,  we  dine  on  a  ragout  or  stew 
of  potatoes  and  meat,  sardines,  wine  of  two  kinds,  and,  for 
dessert,  a  bit  of  cream  cheese,  quite  delicate.  They  have, 
too,  at  this  meal,  houblon,  a  drink  made  of  hops,  l)ut  not 
fermented.  It  is  said  to  be  purgative,  and  good  for  the 
health,  but  I  cannot  praise  its  taste.  My  hosts  tell  me  that 
their  best  meal  is  in  themiddle  of  the  day, — the  breakfast. 
Victor  is  the  prot6g6  of  a  gentleman  to  whom  I  brought  a 
letter  of  introduction.  Victor  is  a  very  ardent  republican. 
In  the  dining-room  is  a  bust  of  Voltaire,  of  whom  he  speaks 
as  the  forerunner  of  their  Revolution.      I  laugh,  and  ask 


48  FRENCH  AND  BELGIANS, 

"  The  John  Baptist?"  but  I  am  not  sure  that  he  understands 
me.  He  says  that  they  do  not  regard  Mirabcau  with  the 
same  veneration  as  Voltaire. 


This  Saturday  evening,  I  am  again  at  Mr.  Carpentier's. 

The  Swiss  young  gentleman,  on  entering,  goes  up  to  our 
host  and  kisses  him  on  one  cheek  and  then  on  the  other. 
I  am  fresh  from  my  call  on  the  school-master,  and  we  dis- 
cuss the  public  schools.  Our  host,  though  a  warm  repub- 
lican, does  not  consider  it  desirable  for  every  one  who  wishes 
to  be  allowed  to  visit  these  schools.  I  speak  about  the 
catechism,  tlie  religious  teaching,  and  some  one  says  that 
the  Senate  would  not  listen  to  a  proposition  to  abolish  it. 
I  thought,  judging  from  my  own  country,  that  if  there  were 
three  men  sufficiently  opposed  to  it,  they  could  get  up  j)eti- 
tions  and  force  the  Chambers  to  discuss  the  subject.  This 
education  is  allowed  in  the  schools,  Avhile  at  the  same  time 
there  is  talk  about  the  clericails  being  the  enemies  of  repub- 
licanism, which  seemed  to  nie  like  building  with  one  hand 
and  tearing  down  with  the  other.  They  tell  me  that  in  the 
higher — the  professional — stihools  there  is  no  religious  in- 
struction. About  nine-tenths  of  the  people  of  this  country 
are  Catholic. 

Among  the  guests  present  this  evening  is  a  distinguished 
gentleman  from  southeastern  Eurojxi  who  takes  snuff.  An- 
other ))erson  present  is  Madame  Latour,  said  to  be  living 
upon  her  rentes,  or  the  interest  of  money,  though  doubt- 
less the  expression  generally  includes  rent  of  houses  and 
lands.  This  seems  to  be  ainsidered  a  desirable  thing  here, 
and  is  not  despised  in  other  countries.  Siie  is  a  widow,  quiet 
and  unpretending.  This  is  the  second  anniversary  of  her 
husband's  death,  and  on  Sunday  she  will  visit  the  cemetery. 


PARIS.  49 

Sunday,  May  6th. — This  morning  Victor  calls  me  to  an 
early  meal,  served  to  myself  alone.  It  is  coffee  with  hot 
milk,  and  bread  without  butter. 

To-tlay  I  meet  again  the  learned  professor  upon  whom 
I  called  last  week,  and  again  we  speak  of  the  journals  and 
of  the  schools.  Liberty  of  the  press  does  not  exist  as  with 
us  even  in  republican  France;  and  the  professor  tells  me 
that  a  journal  is  not  allowed  to  say  "  to-morrow  we  ought 
to  have  a  new  revolution,"  or  "  to-morrow  we  ought  to  re- 
instate the  house  of  Bourbon,"  because  the  people  are  so 
little  instructed,  and  so  ready  to  be  stirred  up,  that  doing 
so  might  produce  a  serious  difficulty,  causing  the  death  of 
many  persons.  On  the  subject  of  the  schools,  he  says  that  if 
the  public  were  admitted,  idle  persons,  of  whom  there  are 
many  in  France,  might  go  in  and  disturb  the  exercises.  He 
adds, — and  is  it  not  funny? — that  members  of  the  clerical 
party  might  visit  them  with  the  desire  of  picking  flaws,  as 
well  as  representatives  of  the  press.  Whereupon  I  tell  him 
that  we  have  a  free  press  and  do  not  fear  it.  The  public 
schools  of  France  are  comparatively  such  humble  things 
that  it  may  be  that  gentlemen  of  standing  do  not  generally 
interest  themselves  in  their  workings,  and  what  is  said  about 
religious  instruction  does  not  seem  to  agree  entirely  with 
what  I  afterwards  learn ;  but  it  is  as  follows :  at  a  given 
hour  the  Catholic  priest  visits  the  schools  to  give  religious 
instruction;  at  another  hour,  the  Lutheran  minister;  at 
another,  the  Reformed  or  Calvinistic;  and  at  another,  the 
Jewish  (these  beiug  the  four  religious  bodies  paid  by  the 
State).  The  learned  professor,  who,  as  I  hear  is  not  Cath- 
olic, argued  in  favor  of  this  instruction,  saying  that  there 
are  in  Paris  many  families  of  mechanics  or  workingmen, 
in  which  both  parents  are  busily  occupied  all  day,  earning 
their  livelihood,  and  so  have  little  or  no  time  to  give  reli- 


50  FRENCH  AND  BELGIANS. 

gious  instruction  to  their  children.  Again  he  says  tiiat  very 
few  of  the  workingmen  go  to  chiircii,  and  therefore  their 
cliildren  would  have  no  religious  instruction  at  all,  but  for 
this  in  school.  I  reply  that  with  us  this  instruction  is  given 
in  churches  and  Sunday-schools,  and  tell  him  of  the  labors 
of  a  certain  citizen  of  Philadelphia  in  establishing  a  mission 
Sunday-school.  (But  wotdd  a  lay  Catholic  be  allowed  by 
the  church  to  do  such  a  thing?) 

While  we  are  talking  a  gentleman  enters,  whom  the  pro- 
fessor introduces  as  a  member  of  the  House  of  Deputies. 
This  gentleman  kindly  offers  to  let  me  have  an  order  to 
enter  the  Chambers  or  their  parliament  at  Versailles.  He 
mentions  an  American  woman  who  has  l)ecn  here,  named 
Ward.  She  has  spoken  upon  the  co-education  of  the 
sexes.  It  occurs  to  me  that  he  means  Julia  Ward  Howe, 
and  I  tell  him  that  she  is  a  distinguished  woman,  a  poet. 
The  deputy  tells  the  professor  about  our  having  schools  for 
both  sexes,  not  only  for  the  young,  but  (with  a  smile)  for 
those  of  fifteen  and  thereabout.  He  tells  us  that  Mrs. 
Howe  touched  upon  delicate  subjects  with  purity.  It  has 
not  b<;en  common  for  ladies  to  s|)eak  in  public  in  France; 
and  it  was  a  Freemasons'  hall  that  had  been  obtained  for 
Mrs.  Howe.  The  de|)uty  spoke  of  having  heard  women 
address  meetings  during  their  civil  war,  by  which  he  meant 
what  we  call  the  commune. 

"  And  how  did  they  speak  ?"  I  ask.  The  deputy  makes 
little  answer,  but  the  professor  is  complimentary,  saying, 
"  On  quite  different  subjects  from  those  that  Madame 
G spejiks  about." 

This  Sunday  we  liave  a  guest  to  the  noontide-breakfast, 
and  at  dinner  we  have  her  husband  also.  Soon  after  my 
morning  coffee,  Victor  begins  to  prepare  for  the  dejeuner, 

/ 


PARIS.  51 

and  makes  quite  a  show  with  the  table-cloth,  the  oranges  and 
apples  that  he  places  upon  it,  and  the  red  radishes  in  rays, 
ends  in  the  middle  of  the  plate,  leaves  on  the  outer  edge. 
He  says  that  he  adores  cooking.  The  guest  is  very  neat. 
She  is  a  pretty  young  woman  with  color  in  her  cheeks. 
She  has  been  married  about  a  year,  and  has  a  baby  at  some 
distance  from  Paris,  with  a  relative.  For  breakfast  we 
have  first  the  dear  little  radishes,  with  bread  and  very  good 
butter.  The  next  course  is  a  piece  of  veal  roasted  in  a  tin- 
kitchen,  before  the  charcoal  grate,  before  described;  the 
veal,  when  dished,  being  partly  buried  in  oseille  or  sorrel, 
which  looks  like  spinach,  but  has  an  acid  taste,  and  is  good ; 
the  juice  or  gravy  of  the  meat  having  been  poured  over  it. 
The  wine  is  opened,  and  white  wine  poured  into  small 
tumblers.  After  this  course,  there  is  a  dish  of  haricots  or 
string-beans.  ^  I  do  not  think  that  I  want  any,  but  they 
tell  me  that  they  are  haricots  with  butter,  and  induce  me 
to  eat.  They  are  young,  tender,  and  good.  Then  there  is 
salad  dressed  with  oil  and  vinegar,  without  sugar.  Victor 
opens  a  bottle  of  red  wine,  which  he  calls  Bordeaux,  and 
it  seems  to  be  a  treat,  and  glasses  are  touched  all  round, 
when  healths  are  drunk  to  Garibaldi,  to  America,  and  to 
Mr.  L.,  of  Philadelphia:  and  our  guest  compliments  Vic- 
tor and  Madame  Leblanc  by  saying,  "  To  the  little  one  who 
is  coming."  After  the  salad  we  have  the  oranges  and  apples 
and  black  coffee  with  sugar.  The  sugar  looks  very  nice. 
I  am  told  that  it  is  from  beets,  and  costs  fifteen  sous  a 
pound,  the  French  pound  being  about  one-tenth  heavier 
than  ours.* 

In  the  afternoon  I  call  upon  the  professor  as  before  de- 

*The  French  pound  is  the  same  as  the  half-kilogramme,  or,  popu- 
larly, the  half-kilo.  The  kilogramme  is  about  two  and  two-tenths 
pounds  avoirdupois. 


52  FRENCH  AND  BELGIANS. 

scribed.  In  my  walk  I  see  a  portion  of  beautiful  Paris. 
I  observe,  however,  a  building  that  is  not  beautiful,  with 
the  sign  "City  of  Paris  Primary  Communal  School  for 
Young  Boys,  directed  by  the  Brothers."  It  is  a  grammar- 
school,  imder  charge  of  the  cleigy.  Farther  on,  I  see  a 
convent,  quite  large, — a  convent  of  the  Sacred  Heart, — 
with  a  fine  garden.  How  nice  gardens  seem  in  such  a 
city,  when  you  live  upon  paved  court-yards  and  rarely 
touch  mother  earth !  How  valuable  this  convent  prop- 
erty must  be  !  But  the  envious  wall  does  not  allow  us  to 
view  the  garden.  On  my  walk  I  also  see  a  very  fine 
house,  with  a  garden  in  front.  The  concierge  woman 
tells  me  that  it  all  belongs,  with  mucli  other  property, 
to  the  widow  Chapsid,  whose  husband  was  author  of  the 
grammar, — Xoel  and  Chapsal's.  On  the  Boulevard  des 
Batignolles  I  see  a  long  white  building;  over  the  en- 
trance of  wl»ich  floats  the  tricolor,  and  at  the  top  is  faintly 
seen  "  Normal  Sciiool."  Seated  at  a  table  on  the  street, 
before  a  restaurant,  two  men  and  a  woman  are  playing 
cards. 

What  a  blessing  to  the  people  shut  up  in  narrow  quarters 
to  come  out  and  rest  on  these  Ixiuches  under  the  trees  in 
the  wide  boulevard  !  What  a  dejected  appearance  has  that 
plain,  common-looking  woman,  sitting  alone!  She  has  on 
no  l>onnet ;  she  seems  to  have  escaped  from  labor,  and  to 
be  absorbed  in  sad  thought.  She  looks  like  a  sensible 
woman.  Tiiis  street,  this  Boulevard  dcs  Batignolles,  is,  I 
suppose,  at  least  a  hundred  feet  wide.  I  sit  down  facing  the 
Normal  School,  and  note  that  there  is  first  a  wide  stone  side- 
walk, and  then  a  paved  way,  wide  enough  for  several  car- 
riages; then  this  wide,  gravelled  promenade  in  the  middle 
of  the  street,  planted  with  four  rows  of  trees,  underneath 
which  are  benches;  behind  me  again  is  another  wide  car- 


PARIS.  53 

riage-way,  and  then  the  stone  side-walk.  While  I  am  in 
Paris,  however,  one  of  my  acquaintances  tells  me  that  the 
wide  avenues  were  not  constructed  to  embellish  the  city, 
but  to  prevent  the  formation  of  barricades.  However  that 
may  be,  must  not  such  a  spot  as  I  have  just  described,  with 
trees  so  carefully  tended  as  they  are  in  Paris,  be  a  beautiful 
thinor?  Yet  I  never  hear  a  Parisian  say,  "How  fine  is 
the  Boulevard  des  Batignolles!"  Paris  is  very  rich  in 
beautiful  objects.  Farther  on,  there  is  an  immense  build- 
ing of  brick  and  stone,  so  fine  that  I  think  it  may  be 
something  military,  but  it  is  a  superior  school, — the  College 
Chaptal.  A  baker  opposite  has  named  his  shop,  in  Paris 
style, "  Bakery  of  the  College  Chaptal."  This  grand  school 
is  for  boys,  and  so  are  the  Lycees.  Many  of  them,  I 
believe,  are  under  government  patronage.  What  is  the 
government  doing  for  girls  in  Paris  beyond  the  common 
public  schools?  There  is  this  one  Normal  School,  of 
which  I  have  lately  spoken ;  and  an  American  lady  has 
told  me  of  free  lectures  at  the  College  of  France  and  the 
Garden  of  Plants ;  but  the  opportunities  of  girls  are,  it 
seems  to  me,  not  equal  to  those  of  boys. 


When  I  return  to  the  house,  my  hostess  and  her  guest 
are  scraping  and  trimming  asparagus,  preparing  it  for 
cooking.  They  have  soon  done,  and  after  a  while  there  is 
a  ring,  and  Madame  F.  says,  "  My  husband."  He  seems 
mther  pleasant,  but  I  like  her  better.  He  plays  with  his 
wife,  and  I  speak  of  her  being  neatly  dressed,  which  pleases 
her.  We  talk  about  what  they  can  do  if  they  come  to 
America,  and  about  Germans  and  Irish  coming  to  my 
country  and  Frenchmen  not.  Victor  tells  me  that  the 
reason  the  French  do  not  come  is  that  they  have  such  good 


54  FRENCH  AND   BELGIANS. 

times  in  their  own  conntry ;  but  the  country  of  tlie  Germans 
is  poor.  He  calls  them  real  spoil -trades, — ffdtes-mHiers, — 
meaning  that  they  will  work  for  lower  wages  than  the 
French.  (They  do  not  love  the  Germans  since  the  war.) 
As  to  America,  Victor  did  think  of  coming  here,  in  the 
service  of  a  business-firm ;  but  they  did  not  agree  upon 
terms,  for  the  firm  would  not  give  him  a  written  agreement 
nor  promise  to  pay  his  return  voyage.  I  have  before  said 
that  he  is  a  book-keeper.  I  understand  that  he  goes  round 
from  ])lace  to  place,  and  must  sometimes  write  where  it  is 
dark,  by  candle  or  gaslight.  We  dine  about  eight,  princi- 
j)ally  on  the  remains  of  the  breakfast.  After  the  soup,  we 
have  radishes,  bread  and  butter,  veal,  and  oseille  (does  not 
that  sound  better  than  "  sorrel"  ?).  But  the  asparagus  is  a 
treat.  We  shall  each  make  our  own  sauce  of  salt,  a  little 
])epi>er,  vinegar,  and  oil.  Then  Victor  takes  up  in  his 
hand,  by  the  hard  end,  a  handful  of  asparagus,  and  gives 
it  to  me,  which  manner  of  serving  is,  as  yet,  new  to  me. 
Other  dishes  are  offered,  and  there  is  Bordeaux  again. 


CHAPTER    IV. 


May  1th. — At  ihe  Exposition  a  terra-cotta  group  of  two 
newsl)oys  in  their  rags  attracts  attention,  from  workingmen 
as  well  as  others.  It  seems  to  me,  however,  that  a  marble 
figure  of  Louis  XVII.,  of  which  the  face  expresses  much 
dejection,  loses  nearly  all  its  force  by  the  boy's  wearing  a 
ruffled  shirt  and  eiiibroidered  drawers,  which  so  poorly 
express  the  misery  and  want  of  the  unfortunate  child  in 
his  imprisonment.  Then  I  remember  Joe  Jefferson  in  the 
rags  of  Rip  Van  Winkle, — how  he  has  dared  to  dress  in 


PARIS.  55 

accordance  with  the  character.  Here  too  is  Dore's  picture 
of  the  Neophyte,  the  young  monk  included  in  a  circle  with 
the  old  ones.  I  had  seen  the  engraving  at  Mr.  Frothing- 
ham's,  in  New  York,  and  the  subject  was  then  very  painful 
to  me ;  but  now  the  young  man  in  the  painting  does  not 
seem  to  have  the  same  look  of  horror  and  repugnance  at 
his  surroundings.  However,  the  associations  here  are 
extremely  different;  there  I  was  alone,  in  a  room  not  fully 
lighted,  and  here  is  the  animation  and  life  of  the  Exposi- 
tion. Further,  I  notice  a  very  fine  picture  of  Galileo, 
pointing  to  an  orbit  of  the  earth,  which  he  has  drawn  upon 
the  pavement,  while  one  churchman  argues  with  him,  and 
one  in  a  cowl  stands  reading,  as  I  imagine,  his  accusation. 
Among  the  visitors  to-day  are  ecclesiastics  again;  and  a 
picture  of  a  young  woman,  which  faces  that  of  Galileo, 
does  not  seem  very  suitable  for  such  celibate  eyes.  A  live 
group  to-day  is  very  striking.  There  are  two  ladies  in  our 
usual  fashionable  attire,  accompanied  by  a  monk  of  about 
thirty -five,  tall,  bare-headed,  with  a  magnificent  black  beard, 
and  with  a  countenance,  it  see'ms  to  me,  somewhat  sad.  He 
wears  sandals,  but  no  stockings,  a  coarse  brown  woollen 
robe,  with  a  hood  or  cowl,  a  rope  around  his  waist,  and  a 
rosary  at  his  side.  What  a  figure  in  these  surroundings ! 
What  a  subject  for  a  painter! 

In  our  own  department,  I  find  one  of  our  chief  officers 
in  a  state  of  temperate  disgust.  I  speak  to  him  of  (me  of 
the  English  exhibits,  in  what  a  state  of  completeness  it  is, 
and  I  observe  how  much  confusion  still  prevails  in  our 
department.  He  replies  tliat  the  English  had  two  years, 
when  we  had  three  months ;  and  I  hear  that  their  cata- 
logue was  printed  six  months  before  Congress  granted  our 
appropriation.  Nor  is  our  educational  department  yet 
ready.     Prussia  has  so  long  been  considered  far  advanced 


56  FRENCH  AND  BELGIANS. 

in  public  instruction  that  I  ask  our  commissioner  about 
tlie  Prussian  exhibit.  He  replies  that  the  Prussians  are 
not  here.  "Why?"  I  ask;  "do  they  feel  guilty?"  It 
is  only  in  the  fine-art  department  that  the  Germans  ex- 
hibit. In  the  Swiss  department  of  education  is  a  little  map 
of  the  northern  hemisphere  to  illustrate  twilight  as  con- 
nected with  the  earth's  atmosphere.  I  understand  that  it 
was  drawn  in  a  penitentiary;  and  a  plain  man  tells  me  that 
the  Swiss  believe  in  reform  in  ])risons,  and  that  even  those 
condemned  for  lil'e  receive  intellectual  training.  In  the 
French  educational  department  a  woman  makes  a  hand- 
some exhibit  of  one  of  their  elegant  raised  charts,  which 
show  the  different  elevations  of  the  country.  She  is  Miss 
Caroline  Kleiidians,  and  she  proposes  to  teach  geography 
by  topography,  beginning  with  the  plan  of  a  little  school, 
and  passing  on  gradually  to  that  of  France.  While  I  am 
at  Paris  our  commissioner  of  education  tells  me  that  France 
alone  exhibits  here  four  times  as  much  in  the  educational 
department  as  all  nations  together  did  at  Philadelphia. 


An  effort  at  our  language  is  to  be  seen  upon  the 
grounds,  where  on  a  neat  building  we  read  "Waters-closets, 
Dames;"  "Waters-closets,  Hommes."  These  are  very 
nicely  arranged  ;  but  it  seems  peculiar  to  see  women  taking 
charge  of  both  sides  and  receiving  the  five  sous  from  men. 


The  plain  man  whom  I  met  in  the  Swiss  department 
asked  me  whether  I  was  a  Christian.  He  says  that  in 
Fnince  they  will  not  notice  a  book  which  contains  the 
name  of  God.  When  I  re|)eat  this  to  my  Ameriam  friend 
she  thinks  tiie  statement  incorrect,  and  says  that  the  Journal 


PARIS.  ^  57 

des  Debats  has  excellent  book  notices ;  but  if  I  rightly 
understand  Mr.  Carpentier,  he  believes  the  Swiss  state- 
ment more  correct.  At  Mr.  C.'s  I  inquire  concerning 
an  expression  I  have  read  somewhere  about  taking  the 
little  God  to  a  sick  man,  meaning  the  mass.  A  person 
present  replies  that  there  is  a  saying,  "  He  is  such  a 
good  man  (or  serious  man)  that  he  can  receive  the  good 
God  without  confession." 


3Iay  Qth. — I  should  have  been  almost  isolated  in  Paris 
but  for  the  American  lady  jast  spoken  of.  She  has  been 
several  years  in  Europe,  and  now,  with  her  son,  has  a  nice 
suite  of  rooms  here.  She  has  kindly  assisted  me  in  that 
feminine  occupation,  shopping;  and  at  one  of  the  great 
stores  she  says  quietly,  "Do  not  speak  English,"  for  fear 
they  will  charge  more. 

I  have  lately  dined  with  her;  and  even  at  the  risk  of 
being  thought  to  talk  too  much  upon  such  subjects,  I  will 
mention  how  tender  was  the  fowl,  and  how  delightfully 
roasted  in  the  tin-kitchen  before  the  charcoal  fire.  At  the 
pastry  cook's  she  probably  obtained  the  goiUets, — little  pies 
or  tarts  made  of  mushrooms,  and  the  Charlotte  Russe.  Her 
asj)aragus  is  served  with  white  sauce  or  melted  butter,  and 
in  eating  it  is  customary  to  lift  it  with  the  fingers  by  the 
coarse  end,  dipping  the  other  into  the  sauce.  Having  been 
so  long  resident  here,  my  friend  can  explain  to  me  some 
things  that  I  do  not  understand.  We  speak  of  the  public 
midwives,  or  sage-femmes,  and  she  tells  me  that  her  ser- 
vant's sister  was  lately  confined  at  one  of  the  lying-in 
houses.  The  woman  was  a  cook  in  one  family,  and  her 
husband  a  servant  in  another.  She  adds  that  such  women 
work  almost  to  the  moment  of  their  confinement,  and  then 


58  FRENCH  AND  BELGIANS. 

go  right  to  one  of  these  surgical  boarding-houses,  kept  by 
women  wlio,  liaving  passed  an  examination,  have  received 
a  diploma  from  a  medical  school.  Here  the  patient  receives 
board  and  medical  treatment  usually  for  ten  days,  the  cus- 
tomary pay  being  from  five  to  eight  francs  a  day.  The 
charge  iu  hospitals  is  less;  some  indeed  are  free,  and  in 
every  one  there  are  free  beds.  All  the  babies,  Protestant 
and  Catholic,  are  generally  baptized  witiiin  twenty-four 
hours,  and  alwut  the  third  day  are  commonly  sent  away  to 
nurse.  My  friend  adds  that  her  own  servant's  husband  is 
a  valet  in  another  iiouse,  and  is  an  excellent  man.  Ad6le, 
the  wife,  is  exjKicting  to  be  confined  in  a  few  months,  and 
hopes  to  be  able  to  put  her  child  with  her  sister  in  Paris, 
whose  husband  is  a  sergenl  de  ville,  or  policeman,  and  con- 
sequently a  person  of  importance  in  the  eyes  of  Ad^le. 
AdSle's  wages  are  fifty  francs  a  month  and  an  allowance  of 
ten  francs  for  wine,  and  five  for  her  washing.  Besides, 
my  friend  furnishes  her  with  four  good  wiiite  aprons  and 
four  colored  ones,  which  are  included  in  the  family  wash, 
— this  washing  being  done  by  a  blanchissense,  or  laundry- 
woman  in  one  of  the  shops  down-stairs,  who  sends  the 
heavy  part  of  her  washing  into  the  country,  but  irons  in 
the  shop.  It  must  not  be  inferred  because  my  friend  gives 
her  servant  an  allowance  for  wine  that  it  is  not  used  u2)on 
own  table. 


Uix)n  the  Boulevard  Haussman  I  get  a  bonnet  from 
Madame  G. ;  and  she  also  consents,  siie  or  her  assistant, 
to  make  me  a  dress.  They  are  botii  nice-looking  women. 
Once  the  assistant  sends  away  a  bonnet  by  a  little  girl 
dressed  in  dark-blue  flannel  or  water-proof.  She  tells  me 
that  the  cliild  will  make  her  first  communion  to-morrow. 


PARIS.  59 

and  that  she  is  well  pleased.  She  is  eleven  years  old.  "  Are 
these  children  yours?"  I  inquire.  "  Oh,  no  ;  they  are  the 
nieces  of  Madame  G."  On  another  occasion  she  returns 
to  the  subject  of  the  first  communion,  and  shows  me  a  little 
colored  picture  of  children  with  a  bird-nest,  telling  me 
that  it  is  customary  for  children,  at  their  first  communion, 
to  make  presents  to  their  little  friends.  The  girl  has  a 
number  of  pictures.  Before  I  leave  Paris,  when  the  chil- 
dren (there  are  two  girls  and  a  boy)  come  on  an  errand  to 
my  lodgings,  I  understand  them  to  say  that  they  are 
Madame  G.'s  children. 

I  see  upon  the  streets,  at  this  present  season,  young  girls 
wearing  white  muslin  dresses,  white  caps,  and  white  veils 
falling  back,  and  they  look  quite  interesting,  adding  an- 
other variety  to  these  varied  streets.  I  understand  that 
they  are  making  their  first  communion. 


To-day  a  man  tells  me  not  to  be  crushed,  and  the  greatest 
danger  that  I  find  here  is  that  of  being  run  over.  The 
streets  are  wide,  and  come  into  others  often  at  acute  angles, 
so  that  you  may  start  to  cross  a  place,  or  opening,  seeing  no 
danger,  but  before  you  are  over  something  will  come  thun- 
dering up,  so  that  you  feel  you  must  run.  One  American 
lady  tells  me  that  she  walks,  but  I  can  hardly  attain  to  so 
much  composure.  The  little  cry  of  warning  that  the  coach- 
man sometimes  gives  is  no  great  thing.  Besides  the  hack- 
ney-coaches, there  are  a  great  many  private  carriages.  Once, 
while  in  Paris,  I  speak  to  Madame  Leblanc,  with  whom  I 
board,  of  tiie  pretty  private  carriages  that  I  see  on  the  Place 
de  V Europe.  She  answers  that  she  does  not  like  to  see  them, 
— she  is  afraid  of  being  crushed  by  those  insolent  servants 
who  crawl  before  their  masters  and  can  slander  them  too. 


60  FRENCH  AND  BELGIANS. 

I  have  before  spoken  of  a  door  wliich  was  covered 
with  wall-paper,  and  which  looked  as  if  cut  out  of  the 
partition.  My  American  friend  tells  me  that  all  doors  are 
taxed,  and  that  these  frames  are  put  up  and  coveretl  with 
paper  to  avoid  the  tax.  Windows  too  are  taxed,  and,  as 
my  hostess  says,  furniture  and  food.  She  adds  that  this 
last  falls  with  especial  weight  upon  the  poor,  who  only  buy 
in  small  quantities.  At  one  time  her  husband  speaks  of 
tiie  tax  U|)on  handbills,  which  of  course  I  desire  to  hear 
about,  and  which  he  afterwards  explains.  (Their  coins, 
weights,  and  measures  are  at  first  very  troublesome,  al- 
though their  decimal  or  metric  system  is  scientific.)  He 
sjiys  that  the  stamp  upon  a  handbill  of  twenty-five  centi- 
metres is  six  centimes,  or  about  a  cent.  On  a  handbill 
twice  the  size,  or  about  one  foot  six  inches  by  one  foot 
three,  the  stamp  is  about  two  cents.  Over  three  cents  is 
charged  on  a  handbill  over  three-fourths  of  a  yard  in 
length;  and,  if  I  do  not  misunderstand  him,  sixteen  sous 
on  a  handbill  over  a  metre  in  length,  or  about  a  yaril  and 
four  inches.  On  one  occasion  I  buy  several  things  at  a 
store,  and  not  having  enough  money  with  me,  order  them 
sent  home  with  a  bill.  When  they  arrive  I  find  that  I 
have  to  pay  for  a  stamj)  of  two  sous  upon  the  bill  or  re- 
ceipt, because  the  amount  exceeds  ten  francs.  This  tax 
has  Ikkju  put  on  since  the  war.  I  also  see  in  a  baker's 
window  a  written  notice  of  rooms  to  let,  furnishe<l ;  down 
in  one  corner  is  a  blue  stamp,  "  France,  ten  centimes," 
two  sous. 

A  Parisian  lady  afterwards  tells  me  that  carriages, 
pianas,  and  expensive  furniture  are  not  taxcil,  and  that 
coffee,  sugar,  matches,  and  places  in  third-class  cars  are. 
She  says  that  Thiers  was  the  man  of  the  bourgeoises  and 
feared  that  the  ricii  would  not  support  him  if  they  were 


PARIS.  61 

taxed.     She  adtls  that  on  real  estate  the  tax  lias  not  been 
increased  since  the  war. 


Sometimes  I  speak  of  Red  Republicans,  so  often  men- 
tioned at  home.  Madame  Leblanc  says  that  Red  Repub- 
licans are  those  who  love  to  shed  blood,  which  her  husband 
does  not  like.  Nevertheless,  she  says  that  he  is  a  very 
advanced  Republican.  Victor  himself  does  not  like  the 
former  epitiiet. 

I  have  before  described  a  suite  of  rooms  ;  and  now  I  can 
speak  of  the  cellar,  as  Madame  Leblanc  has  allowed  me  to 
accompany  her  in  her  journey  below  ground.  We  de- 
scend our  three  flights  of  stairs,  go  out  our  door  into  the 
court-yard,  enter  a  side-door,  and  go  down  three  short 
flights  of  broad  stone  steps,  twenty  in  all.  Now  we  are  in 
the  cave.  Here  are  different  passages  and  a  good  many 
numbered  doors.  Mrs.  L.  unlocks  number  17,  and  shows 
a  little  cellar  of  irregular  form.  Here  are  three  wine- 
casks  of  different  sizes,  —  two  of  them  containing  new 
wine,  which  has  to  settle  before  being  opened.  Here, 
too,  are  wine-bottles  lying  upon  their  sides  in  rows, 
with  plastering- hiths  between  their  necks.  The  cellar 
does  not  seem  to  be  used  for  any  other  purpose  than 
this.  It  is  damp  and  cool,  as  if  one  might  take  rheuma- 
tism. Desiring  to  see  all  that  I  can,  I  take  the  light  and 
look  into  other  passages.  In  one  part,  madame  tells  me, 
there  are  casks  of  zinc  to  receive  the  contents  of  the 
water-closets, — new  houses  being  thus  built.  Once  a  week 
these  casks  are  taken  away  and  replaced  by  empty  ones. 
She  says  that  in  the  old  houses  there  are  in  the  court-yards 
deep  pits,  into  which  the  closets  empty,  and  she  thinks  it 
is  about  once  in  three  or  four  years  tiiat  men  come  round 

4 


62  FRENCH  AND   BELGIANS. 

with  pump,  pipes,  and  wagon,  and  take  out  the  contents. 
Then  the  vault  must  be  left  Oj>en  until  the  inspector  comes 
to  see  whether  repairs  are  wanted.  This  refuse  is  taken  to 
the  environs  and  made  into  poudrette,  and  those  who  make 
it  and  those  who  sell  it,  she  says,  become  rich. 


In  our  dining-room  is  a  porcelain  stove;  yet  not  in  the 
room,  for  not  much  more  is  seen  than  the  front  covere<l  with 
white  jwrcelain  with  brass  bands.  Mrs.  L.  says  that  they 
burn  coke  in  it,  and  adds,  "That  is  a  gulf!  It  consumes ! 
it  consumes!  And  then  we  must  watch  it  every  quarter- 
hour  for  fear  it  goes  out.  It  is  very  costly  in  winter,  as  re- 
gards light  and  heat." 

S}>eaking  of  soldiers,  Victor  gives  me  the  following 
numbei*s :  There  are  four  hundred  and  fifty  thousand  sol- 
diers in  France  (about  one  hundred  thousand  of  them  in 
Paris  and  its  environs);  also  ten  thousand  scrgaits  de  I'ille, 
who  receive  five  francs  a  day ;  ten  thousand  municipal  or 
republican  guards,  who  receive  four  francs  a  day, — old  sol- 
diers on  a  pension  for  having  served  many  years  in  the  army. 
Then,  in  France  there  are  twenty-five  thousand  of  the  gen- 
darmene,  |)olice  officers  in  the  country  and  in  small  towns. 
These  receive  a  pension  after  twenty-five  years'  service.*  I 
see  so  many  young  soldiers  in  the  flower  of  their  age, — for 
they  begin  to  serve  at  twenty-one, — that  I  ask  Victor  what 
they  do.  "They  lounge,"  he  answers;  "ifs  fianent,  and 
practise  their  exercise.  When  their  time  is  out,  they  are  not 
willing  to  busy  themselves  with  anything,  they  become  so 

*  By  the  proposed  budget  for  1879,  the  efTective  strength  of  the 
whole  French  army,  including  the  gendurmerie  and  Garde  R^publi- 
caine,  is  490,442  men  and  124,279  horses — Statesman's  Year  Booh, 
McMillan  &  Co. 


PARIS.  63 

lazy."  While  in  barracks  the  soldier  does  not  prepare  his 
fooil ;  this  is  done  by  the  cantinier.  Those  who  do  not  know 
how  to  read  and  write  are  taught ;  but  they  rise  early,  and 
must  have  time  for  other  studies,  did  France  desire  to  teach 
them,  or  did  they  desire  to  learn.  Mrs.  Leblanc  once  said 
that  military  life  brutalizes  a  man:  "You  see  a  man  who 
has  learned  a  trade,  and  who  is  a  good  workman,  but  when 
he  becomes  a  soldier  he  gets  a  taste  for  idleness,  and  then  he 
is  good  for  nothing.  Idleness,  we  say,  is  the  mother  of  all 
the  vices.  The  women  who  lead  a  bad  life,  the  cause  of  it  in 
three-quarters  of  the  cases  is  idleness;  the  desire  for  luxury 
and  idleness  is  the  cause  of  their  leading  that  base  life." 

Soon  after  my  arrival  at  Paris  I  spoke  to  a  gentleman  of 
its  being  a  heavy  burden  upon  the  workingmen  to  support 
so  many  soldiers.  The  gentleman  replied  that  their  heaviest 
burden  is  the  five  years'  military  service.  Once,  upon  the 
street,  I  ask  a  question  of  a  woman  carrying  something, 
and  then  for  a  few  moments  I  walk  on  with  her.  We  meet 
a  man  in  uniform,  and  I  tell  her  that  in  my  country  we 
have  not  many  soldiers;  in  my  great  country,  so  much 
larger  than  France,  there  are  not  so  many  soldiers  as  are 
now  in  Paris.  She  answers  that  there  are  small  towns  in 
France  that  have  not  the  advantages  of  Paris.  "  Do  you 
call  that  an  advantage,"  I  ask,  "  that  is  costly?"  Appar- 
ently she  is  of  the  same  mind  as  a  young  countrywoman  of 
mine  here,  who  said,  "I  like  a  military  government."* 

For  myself,  I  have  sympathizer!  with  the  young  soldiers 
who  come  up  from  a  life  of  rural  toil  to  this  idleness  in 
barracks.  If  France  were  truly  a  paternal  government, 
what  would  she  do  for  them?  Could  she  not  instruct  them 
until  no  Prussian  soldier  could  surpass  them?     Could  not 

*  The  army  of  the  United  States  numbers  25,000  men. 


64  FRENCH  AND   BELGIANS. 

the  people  collect  journals  for  them,  as  is  done  among  us  for 
those  iu  hospitals  ? 

I  take  a  very  long  walk  to  the  Luxembourg  palace, 
having  a  card  of  introduction  to  present  to  Mr.  Gr6ard, 
who  is  at  the  head  of  grammar-school  education  here.  I 
get  into  Old  Paris,  and  sit  down  u|>on  a  bridge  over  the 
Seine,  the  Pont  Neuf,  and  talk  with  a  couple  of  women, 
one  of  them  of  that  numerous  class  who  wear  caps,  but  no 
bonnets.  She  is  quite  intelligent,  and  tells  me  that  the 
Pont  Neuf  was  built  by  Henry  IV.  She  points  out  the 
equestrian  statue  of  Henry  close  by,  and  we  talk  about 
his  history.  How  sensible  some  of  these  women  are !  On 
the  street  are  hanging  little  colored  pictures,  which  I  stop 
to  see,  and  beside  me  is  another  of  these  women.  "They 
ridicule  the  priests,"  I  say  to  her,  and  she  gives  me  a  look 
indicating  that  she  has  not  much  regard  for  the  priests. 
"What  a  wonderfully  interesting  city  Paris  is!  Reaching 
that  old  palace,  the  Luxembourg,  I  seek  the  office  of  Mr. 
Gr6ard,  director  of  communal  schools.  I  do  not  see  him, 
however;  I  hear  that  he  is  much  occupied  with  the  Expo- 
sition, but  I  can  see  his  secretary.  These  offices  are  up 
four  flights  of  stairs,  and  that  of  the  secretary  is  small  and 
plain,  paved  with  hexagonal  tiles.  I  show  him  my  letter 
of  introduction  to  the  learned  professor  before  mentioned, 
and  he  says,  "  You  desire  to  visit  public  schools;  probably 
those  of  the  girls?"  He  does  not  seem  to  snppose  that  I 
want  to  see  the  boys.  I  reply  that  I  want  to  visit  both,  but 
if  I  cannot  obtain  permission  to  do  so,  I  will  take  that  to 
visit  the  girls.  He  notes  down  what  I  want  and  my  address. 
The  matter — this  importjint  matter — will  doubtless  be  re- 
ferred to  his  chief,  so  I  depart. 

Victor  Leblanc,  my  host,  says  that  he  favors  co-educa- 


PARIS.  55 

tion  of  the  sexes;  he  proposed  it  in  some  private  societies 
for  instruction,  I  tell  him  about  men's  smiling  when  the 
subject  is  mentionetl,  and  he  says,  "  We  have  people  who 
think  we  are  lost  when  they  see  a  boy  and  girl  together. 
We  are  so  corrupt  that  we  imagine  there  is  evil  in  it."  For 
myself,  the  great  care  which  so  many  French  people  have 
to  guard  the  intercourse  of  the  young  of  both  sexes  reminds 
me  of  the  dread  which  our  temperance  people  have  for  the 
use  of  any  intoxicating  drink. 


May  10th. — The  narrative  of  the  preceding  day  is  very 
long.  This  is  caused  by  my  having  gone  forward  in  order 
to  preserve  more  unity  in  subjects  upon  which  I  write. 
Mrs.  Leblanc  comes  in  this  morning  with  bread  and  meat, 
which  she  has  been  buying  for  the  eleven  o'clock  breakfast, 
and  goes  at  once  to  the  book  to  put  down  what  she  has 
bought  and  the  price.  She  says  that  every  month  they 
reckon  up  their  expenses. 

The  window  of  my  room  looks  upon  the  court-yard, 
which  is  kept  in  beautiful  order  by  the  concierge  and  his 
wife,  being  much  nicer  than  one  near  by.  The  floor  of  my 
room  is  waxed,  and  there  is  a  rug  before  the  bed.  I  ask 
Victor  whether  I  may  shake  the  mat  out  of  my  window, 
and  he  replies  that  I  may,  if  I  do  it  before  the  concierge  is 
up,  adding  that  the  concierges  are  the  plagues  of  houses, 
like  the  plagues  of  Egypt.  Being  up  lately  about  half- 
past  three,  I  shake  the  rug  at  the  window  with  impunity. 
Looking  out  of  my  window  one  Sunday  morning,  Mrs. 
Leblanc  and  I  see  the  man,  the  concierge,  below  scraping 
asparagus.  Mrs.  L.  says  that  the  concierges  live  very  well 
at  times, better  than  some  who  rent  apartments;  but  that  it 
is  a  life  of  slavery,  because  the  two  can  never  go  out  together. 


66  FRENCH  AND  BELGIANS. 

This  pair  have  quite  a  handsome  room,  but  she  says  that 
she  knows  a  concierge,  a  widow,  who  is  very  uniiealthily 
lodged. 

In  speaking  of  marriages,  Mrs.'  Leblanc  says,  "  Among 
people  like  ourselves  and  among  mechanics  marriages  are 
made  for  love, — d'inclination, — but  it  is  not  so  among  the 
rich  ;  they  only  wish  to  marry  the  rich,  and  they  make  very 
bad  marriages.  They  are  called  suitable  marriages, — de 
convenance, — but  I  call  them  unsuitable." 


This  evening  I  receive  from  Mr.  Gr6ard  permission  to 
visit  a  goodly  number  of  girls'  primary  or  grammar  schools, 
but  none  to  visit  the  boys'.  Can  any  danger  be  anticipated 
from  the  mother  of  a  collegian?  Further,  there  is  no  per- 
mission to  visit  the  asyles  or  infant  schools,  nor  any  of  the 
clerical  schools. 

What  a  quantity  of  little  dogs  upon  the  streets !  although 
Victor  tells  me  that  they  are  taxed  ten  francs  a  year.  But 
a  large  dog  is  rarely  seen.  One  afternoon,  when  the  season 
is  more  advanced,  I  see  a  fat  woman  upon  the  street,  red- 
faced,  as  if  warm,  and  leading  by  chains  two  small  dogs. 
One  of  them  is  a  female,  apparently  in  an  interesting 
situation. 


CHAPTER    V. 


May  Wth. — To-day  I  have  the  pleasure  of  calling  upon 
Mr.  Gr6ard,  and  I  afterwards  receive  permission  to  visit 
other  schools,  but  none  of  the  boys'.  Although  the  Lux- 
embourg was  a  palace,  all  parts  of  it  are  not  elegant;  but 


PARIS.  67 

Mr.  Gr^rd's  office  is  large,  neat,  and  carpeted.  From  the 
palace  an  arched  way  opens  directly  into  the  Luxembourg 
gardens ;  and  how  lovely  they  seem  on  leaving  the  office 
M'hich  w'as  dark  in  comparison  !  A  sentry,  a  young  soldier, 
is  on  guard ;  and,  looking  towards  the  palace,  I  ask  him 
who  built  it.  "I  cannot  tell  you,"  he  says;  but  I  after- 
wards learn  that  soldiers  on  guard  are  not  expected  to  con- 
verse. There  has  been  a  shower ;  the  garden-grass  is  of  a 
light-green  and  the  flowers  are  bright.  I  sit  down  upon  a 
bench,  on  the  other  end  of  which  is  a  woman  falling  asleep, — 
an  old  woman  in  a  cap,  with  a  red  face  as  if  she  has  been 
drinking.  As  it  is  lunch-time,  I  find  a  cheap  restaurant 
outside,  and  am  not  delighted  with  a  dirty  cloth,  poor 
butter,  acrid  wine,  and  two  chattering  young  men  at  the 
same  table,  one  of  whom  wears  his  hat  all  the  time.  I  see 
some  other  parts  of  the  premises  which  are  even  less  pleas- 
ing, and  when  I  go  forth  and  agiiin  enter  the  gardens  they 
are  again  charming,  especially  by  contrast.  Here  a  woman 
in  a  cap  seems  to  have  finished  her  lunch,  and  is  feeding 
sparrows  with  bread-crumbs,  while  a  young  man  upon  the 
same  bench,  at  a  little  distance,  is  looking  on.  How  many 
young  men  there  are  here,  and  in  the  busiest  part  of  the 
Parisian's  day,  between  the  eleven  o'clock  breakfast  and  the 
evening  dinner!  Here,  too,  are  women  with  their  sewing, 
— one  young  woman  on  the  bench  with  me  is  embroidering, 
— ^and  there  are  plenty  of  children.  The  water  is  flowing 
in  the  fountain,  the  large  one  with  statues;  some  one  calls 
it  the  Fountain  de  Medicis ;  birds  are  bathing  and  drinking 
in  its  waters.  Horse-chestnut  trees  are  yet  in  bloom,  and 
their  shade  is  growing  heavy.  Quantities  of  chairs  are 
turned  up  around  trees,  I  suppose  for  use  when  there  is 
music.  A  company  of  youths  pass  through,  going  to  some 
school.     A  young  man  sits  down  and  is  sociable  with  the 


68  FRENCH  AND  BELGIANS. 

young  embroiderer  on  this  bench ;  ne.irly  opposite  me,  in  a 
chair,  is  a  young  man  with  books  and  portfolio.  There 
comes  into  my  mind  the  stiident-at-law  who  abandons  the 
girl  in  one  of  Victor  Hugo's  novels. 

The  size  of  the  Luxenibourg  gardens  surprises  me.  Be- 
hind me  an  old  man  has  been  spading  a  large  garden-bed, 
and  now  they  are  unloading  plants  from  a  wagon  ;  birds  are 
warbling;  what  a  paradise  after  all  those  crowded  holes! 
AVMiat  sort  of  a  place  has  this  young  embroiderer  come  out 
of?  While  she  talks  she  stitches.  She  and  the  young 
man  help  me  to  fix  the  date  of  their  late  revolution,  Sep- 
tember 4th,  1870;  and  from  this  epoch,  as  Victor  has  told 
me,  date  the  words  so  often  seen  on  public  buildings, 
"Libert6,  £galit6,  FraterniKi." 

The  fountain  of  which  I  have  spoken  is  finely  built  and 
imj)osing.  Close  by  it  is  a  nice-looking  man  with  two 
young  girls.  I  ask  him  who  built  it,  but  he  cannot  tell. 
Walking  around  it,  I  see  a  poor  woman  with  a  baby ; 
neither  does  she  know ;  she  thinks  there  may  be  an  inscrip- 
tion on  the  other  side,  but  I  find  only  a  coat-of-arms  and 
a  crown  cut  in  the  stone.  Not  far  off  is  a  soldier  in  hand- 
some uniform  putting  a  collar  upon  a  dog, — a  much  larger 
and  finer  animal  than  the  puppies  of  Paris.  The  soldier 
tells  me  that  Marie  de  Medicis  built  the  LuxemlKUirg. 
"  Was  she  the  wife  of  Henry  the  Fourth?"  I  :tsk  ;  but  he 
thinks  that  Henry's  wife  was  Margaret  of  Valois;  then  I 
suggest  that  he  was  twice  married.*  I  venture  to  inquire 
whether  the  decoration  on  the  breast  of  the  soldier  is  that 

*  In  1572,  Honry  of  Navarre  married  Margaret  of  Vulois,  daughter 
of  Catherine  de  Medicis,  and  sister  of  the  reigning  king,  Charles  tho 
Ninth.  In  1599  tliis  marriage  was  dissolved,  and  Henry,  become 
king  of  France,  married  Marie  do  Medicis,  nioce  of  the  grand  duke 
of  Tuscany. 


PARIS.  69 

of  the  Legion  of  Honor.  It  is.  And  may  I  ask  how  it 
was  obtained?  He  was  three  times  wounded  in  1848  (I 
suppose  upon  the  downfall  of  Louis  Philippe ;  but  he 
must  have  been  young  then).  He  says  that  both  his  father 
and  mother  were  witii  the  army,  and  so  he  was  enfant  taube, 
an  expression  which  I  do  not  understand ;  but  I  say,  "  So 
you  are  son  of  the  regiment  ?"  which  does  not  appear  to 
displease  him. 

I  see  at  the  end  of  a  vista  a  distant  building  with  a 
large  dome.  I  am  told  that  it  is  the  Pantheon.  I  have 
long  heard  of  that  temple  to  all  the  gods,  and  so,  instead  of 
going  to  the  Louvre  to-day,  I  think  that  I  will  saunter  to 
this  building  so  celebrated  in  their  first  Revolution  of  1789. 
Popularly  it  is  the  Pantheon,  but  clerically  is  it  not  the 
church  of  St.  Genevieve?  It  seems  to  be  a  jumble  of  Re- 
publicanism and  Catholicism.  Within  are  the  confe.«sional 
boxes ;  without,  the  carved  fa9ade  and  the  gilt  inscription, 
"  To  great  men  from  a  great  country."  On  high  within 
are  large  paintings,  inscribed  "Death,"  "The  Fatherland," 
and  in  contrast  is  a  great  mural  picture,  with  the  inscrip- 
tion, in  Roman  letters,  "  In  the  year  CDXXIX.,  St.  Ger- 
main of  Auxerre  and  St.  Loup  of  Troyes,  in  going  to 
England  to  combat  the  Pelagian  heresy,  arrive  at  the  en- 
virons of  Nanterre.  In  the  crowd  that  runs  to  meet  them, 
St.  Germain  perceives  a  child  who  is  marked  to  his  eye 
with  the  divine  seal.  He  questions  her,  and  foretells  to 
her  parents  the  high  destiny  to  which  she  is  called.  This 
child  was  St.  Genevieve,  patroness  of  Paris."  A  notice 
upon  the  outside  of  the  Pantheon,  of  tickets  for  visiting 
the  vault  and  tiie  dome,  with  the  price  added,  is  in  the 
English  language ;  which  fact  is  suggestive. 

In  quitting  the  Pantheon  I  see  two  old  buildings  near 

4* 


70  FRENCH  AND  BELGIANS. 

by,  ami  ask  their  names  from  a  young  and  well-dressed 
woman.      She  says  that  one  is  the  College  Henry  IV.,  and 
the  other  is  the  Church  of  St.  Genevieve :  but  as  regards 
the  latter,  I  am  sure  that  she  is  wrong.     I  enter  this  an- 
cient structure,  and  find  among  many  other  things  a  little 
tablet  on  the  wall,  with  this  modern  in.scription,  "Grati- 
tude to  the  Virgin  Mary.     I  invoked  her,  and  she  granted 
my  prayer.    A.  L.   May  23,  1871."     There  are  other  tab- 
lets, but  I  see  none  of  a  later  date  than  1874.     Some  of 
the  paintings  here,  as  that  of  the  annunciation,  the  offer- 
ings of  the  wise  men,  etc.,  are  not  disfigured  by  the  brass 
plates,  as  I  call  them,  which,  to  represent  glories,  are  painted 
around  some  heads  I  saw  at  the  Exposition  ;  but  in  one  of 
the  chapels  of  this  church, — I  think  it  is  of  the  Ten  Thou- 
sand Chevaliers, — can  be  seen  plenty  of  these  unnatural 
things  around  the  heads  of  the  ancient  knights.    As  to  the 
name  of  this  venerable  pile,  we  learn  from  an  old  tablet 
that  during  the  reign  of  Louis  the  Just,  the  XIII.,  it  was 
consecrated  under  the  invocation  of  the  first  martyr,  St. 
Stephen ;  doubtless  it  is  the  Church  of  St.  Stephen  of  the 
Mount  [St.  £tienne  du  Mont).     A  young  man  of  about 
twenty-three  comes  into  the  church  with  a  portfolio  under 
his  arm,  whence  I  suppose  him  to  be  a  student;  he  kneels 
devoutly  for  a  little  while,  and  then  goes  away.     In  this 
ancient  building  Catholicism  may  be  seen  in  a  venerable 
form.     A  nice-looking  priest  with  gray  hair  is  hastening 
to  confess  some  women.     I  walk  around  the  church,  and 
find  seven  confessional  boxes  in  as  many  different  chapels, 
raile<l  off  from  the  body  of  the  church.     The  door  of  one 
box  stands  o|)en,  and  I  see  the  woman  kneeling  within. 
In  the  church  is  a   notice,  "Association  of  prayers  for 
easing  souls  in  purgatory."     Also  a  tablet  bears  the  fol- 
lowing  inscription,    "  Work    of  the   propagation   of   the 


PARIS.  71 

faith,  founded  in  1822,  and  spread  over  the  whole  world. 
Prayers  and  subscriptions  destined  to  aid  Catholic  mission- 
aries going  at  the  peril  of  their  life  to  carry  faith  and  civi- 
lization among  infidel  nations.  Prayers,  one  Lord's  Prayer 
and  one  Hail  Mary,  each  day,  and  the  invocation,  St.  Francis 
Xavier,  pray  for  us !  Subscription,  one  sous  a  week.  Once 
in  two  months,  annals  relating  the  travels  and  the  labors  of 
missionaries  are  distributed,  and  giving  a  detailed  account 
of  receipts  and  expenses."  In  one  of  the  chapels  I  come 
upon  an  interesting  scene, — a  baptism.  The  nice  little 
baby  behaves  very  well;  tiie  company  ajjpear  to  be  in 
moderate  circumstances.  The  priest  seems  about  forty, 
and  is  rather  good-looking.  His  head  indicates  intelli- 
gence. He  goes  rapidly  over  the  service,  apparently  in 
Latin  ;  but  when  he  comes  to  the  creed  the  father  or  god- 
father (for  I  am  so  ignorant  I  know  not  which)  has  to 
repeat  it  in  French.  The  little  one  takes  the  salt  into  its 
mouth,  receives  the  oil  of  the  chrism,  and  has  water  poured 
upon  its  head  three  times,  in  the  name  of  the  Father,  etc., 
and  is  named  Caroline;  then  there  is  a  signing  in  one  or 
two  books,  and  one  of  the  men  takes  off'  his  glove  and 
puts  his  hand  into  his  pocket,  and  hands  something  to  the 
priest's  assistant,  who  seems  pleased,  and  the  certificate  is 
being  prepared  as  I  leave.  In  quitting  the  church,  I  see 
upon  the  street  a  monk  in  more  showy  vestments  than 
most  of  the  churchmen, — in  black,  with  cream  color  or 
pale  buff*.  I  am  told  that  he  is  a  Dominican,  and  that 
they  have  a  house  at  Les  Carmes.  Close  by  is  a  large  old 
square  tower,  and  on  the  door  of  the  building  connected 
with  it  I  read  Henry  IV.  Lyceum, — Lycee  Henri  Quatre. 
I  step  into  the  door,  but  am  not  allowed  to  proceed  farther 
than  a  court-yard,  where  it  appears  that  some  of  the  boys 
are  receiving  their  parents  or  friends.     It  is  now  Saturday 


72  FRENCH  AND  BELGIANS. 

afternoon.  Hiding  home  in  the  omnibus,  I  meet  a  nice- 
looking  colored  woman,  neatly  dressed  and  very  ladylike 
in  her  behavior ;  she  is  companion  or  attendant  of  a  boy 
of  about  fifteen,  dressed  in  a  Lyc6e  uniform.  She  is  from 
South  America,  and  cannot  si)eak  English.  The  lad  is 
eating  his  bread  and  meat  in  ti>e  omnibus,  as  if  he  had 
been  obliged  to  hurry  away  from  school.  He  is  quite 
open  and  pleasant,  and  tells  me  that  he  is  from  Venezuela, 
but  he  has  not  a  Spanish  look,  having  light  eyes.  His 
talk  is  very  hard  for  me  to  understand,  perhaj)s  from  the 
Spanish  accent;  he  may  be  the  son  of  some  person  of 
wealth  or  importance,  who  has  brought  him  or  sent  him 
to  be  taught  in  Paris.  Now  I  am  not  so  much  surprised 
that  people  should  ask  me  from  what  part  of  America  I 
come.  At  the  Exposition  I  see  a  guard  of  the  section  of 
South  America,  bearing  upon  his  cap  the  words  Latin 
America, — Amhnque  Latine.  And  this  reminds  me  tiiat 
while  in  Paris  I  heard  Mr.  Cari)entier  sj)eak  of  a  literary 
society  for  the  Latin  races  only.  But  this  Mr.  Carpentier 
does  not  approve;  he  wishes  to  unite  Europe. 

This  evening.  May  11th,  I  attend  a  kicture, — they  call 
it  a  covf^rence.  The  hall  is  a  pretty  one,  the  ceiling  not 
very  high,  but  it  and  the  walls  are  ornamented  somewhat 
like  our  theatres.  It  looks  as  if  lighted  with  short  candles, 
but  when  the  givs  is  turned  up  I  perceive  that  they  are  jets. 
At  this  conference  several  ladies  sit  upon  the  platform  ;  but 
I  believe  this  is  quite  unusual  in  Paris.  I  am  introduce<l 
to  Monsieur  and  Madame  G.  He  is  not  a  large  man, 
but  he  is  a  great  Phalansterian,  or  Fourierite,  and  addresses 
me  upon  the  subject  before  the  lecture  begins.  I  afterwards 
hear  that  Mr.  and  Mrs.  G.  are  rentiers, — they  live  on  the 
interest  of  tiieir  money  ;  that  they  are  very  active  in  good 
works  or  in  i)rogress,  and  that  tiiey  are  united;  wherever 


PARIS.  73 

you  see  Madame  G.  you  always  see  Mr.  G.  At  the  le<;- 
ture  we  applaud,  men  and  women.  Occasionally  there  is 
spoken  approval,  "  Well !"  "  Very  well !"  «  Bravo  !"  The 
lecturer  is  a  very  gentlemanly  man  ;  he  has  been  a  professor, 
but  has  had  trouble  on  account  of  certain  sentiments  pub- 
lished in  a  book  ;  he  has  lost  his  place,  or  has  been  removed. 
He  Sjieaks  of  America,  of  our  country,  and  of  emulating 
our  example,  and  thinks  they  may  yet  excel  us.  After  the 
lecture  I  shake  hands  with  him,  and  in  the  antechamber 
tell  him  that  I  do  not  think  they  will  excel  us;  that  there 
are  two  points  which  we  regard  as  of  the  highest  impor- 
tance, namely,  the  independence  of  church  and  state,  and 
the  entire  liberty  of  the  press.  The  slender,  gentlemanly 
Frenchman  answers  not. 

When  we  get  home  and  talk  upon  this  subject,  Victor 
says,  "Before  we  surpass  America,  some  water  will  run 
under  the  bridge,"  which  makes  me  laugh,  for  of  course  I 
am  pleased. 

One  of  the  gentlemen  whom  I  met  at  the  lecture  once 
lived  in  Algeria,  and  now  exhibits  Algerine  cotton  at  the 
Exposition.  I  also  heard  Algiers  mentioned  at  the  Lux- 
emboui^  gardens.  A  young  lady  spoke  to  me,  and  told 
me  that  she  is  the  daughter  of  the  Lutheran  minister  at 
whose  home  I  sought,  board.  She  has  five  brothers,  and 
three  of  them  are  pastors  (the  title  here  for  Protestant  min- 
isters), and  one  of  these  is  in  Algeria.  So  this  African- 
French  colony  must  be  of  importance  in  their  eyes. 


Sunday,  May  12th. — It  has  been  suggested  that  we 
should  go  to  the  country  this  afternoon,  but  Victor  is 
fatigued  and  occupied.  Last  evening  he  had  to  go  early  to 
the  hall,  and  make  preparations  for  the  lecture.     After  the 


74  FRENCH  AND   BELGIANS. 

meeting  I  missetl  him,  and  came  back  in  an  omnibus;  but 
he  and  his  wife  walked  home,  in  spite  of  his  lameness,  be- 
cause the  flags  which  lie  brought  from  the  hall  could  not 
be  taken  into  the  omnibus.  This  morning,  without  eating 
breakfast,  he  is  off  ejirly,  to  serve  an  old  and  valued  friend, 
by  superintending  the  bottling  of  wine.  After  eleven, 
when  he  returns,  he  says  that  he  is  quite  exhausted. 

In  conversation,  I  remark  that  the  lecturer  last  evening 
did  not  drink  his  wine.  Before  him  there  had  Ixien  a  de- 
canter, a  Iwttle  of  water,  and  some  nice  white  sugar.  They 
tell  me  that  it  was  not  wine,  and  Victor  adds,  "  Rum," 
"Oh!"  said  I,  adding  something  more.  "That  is  good," 
said  Victor;  "you  make  very  good  rum  in  America." 
After  the  twelve  o'clock  breakfast  he  and  I  have  a  very 
long  conversation,  from  which  I  learn  that  the  Christian 
Brothers  who  teach  are  not  always  obliged  to  submit  to  an 
examination,  as  other  teachers  are.  This  subject  is  hard 
to  investigate,  but  I  finally  understand  that  a  letter  from 
a  su|)erior  sometimes  qualifies  a  monk  or  nun  to  teach 
without  passing  the  examination  to  which  all  others  in 
France  must,  by  law,  submit  l)efore  teaching  either  a  public 
or  private  school.  While  on  these  subjects,  I  will  add 
that  a  person  in  authority  has  told  me  that  the  reason  that 
the  public  is  not  allowed  to  visit  public  schools,  is  political 
differences.  "  The  law  dates  from  1850,"  says  my  inform- 
ant, "from  the  Empire.  •  The  Republic  will  change  it." 

Victor  is  very  much  occuj)ied  to-day,  for  in  the  after- 
noon he  gf>es  to  seek  board  for  a  friend.  Nevertheless,  we 
still  have  leisure  to  talk.  He  speaks  with  great  warmth 
on  the  morals  of  the  clergy ;  says  that  they  are  guilty  of 
filthincss, — the  proceedings  of  the  court^s  show  it;  that  he 
was  not  married  by  a  priest,  and  that  none  shall  baptize 
any  child  of  his.     He  and  his  wife  unite  in  the  opinion 


PARIS.  75 

that  celibacy  produces  death  at  an  early  age,  say  about 
thirty ;  or  lass  of  mental  power  at  about  fifty.  "  Those 
people,"  he  adds,  "  began  my  education,  and  at  the  age  of 
twelve  years  I  was  very  pious,  so  that  when  my  mother 
came  to  see  me  and  gave  me  ray  weekly  pence,  instead  of 
buying  barley-sugar,  apples,  and  cakes,  I  gave  the  money  to 
the  priests,  the  cures;  and  Mr.  Carpentier  was  more  fanati- 
cal than  I :  he  continued  to  practise  until  he  was  eighteen" 
(to  practise  the  rites  of  religion). 

"But  why  do  you  not  join  the  Protestants?"  I  inquire. 

Carelessly  he  replies,  "  It  is  not  worth  while;  I  do  not 
need  the  religion  of  the  Protestants  in  order  to  live  or  do 
good.  I  like  the  Protestants  better  than  the  Catholics,  but 
that  is  no  reason  for  my  joining  them." 

He  is  told  about  our  different  sects,  and  how,  if  the  great 
evangelical  sects,  being  united,  could  exterminate  the  Cath- 
olics, Unitarians,  and  others,  they  would  then  begin  to 
quarrel  among  themselves. 

"  That  is  why,"  he  answers,  "  I  would  not  care  to  have 
any  religion." 

"No,"  says  one,  in  reply,  "you  must  not  be  discouraged 
from  seeking  the  truth  because  other  men  love  falsehood." 

"  But  I  love  truth,"  he  answers. 

"But,  if  you  could  prove  that  people  who  hold  your 
sentiments  are  really  good  people " 

"  Look  at  Mr.  and  Mrs.  C.  She  gave  her  money, 
although  she  was  not  rich,  to  establish  schools  for  girls,  so 
that  if  they  should  marry  and  their  husbands  should 
abandon  them,  they  would  be  able  to  carry  on  business  for 
themselves.     She  was  a  freethinker." 


Monday,  May  \Mh. — ^Victor  gives  their  washing  every 


76  FRENCH  AND  BELGIANS. 

Monday  to  a  man  who  comes  from  the  country,  and  who 
brings  back  at  the  same  time  that  of  the  previous  week. 
Til  is  morning  he  brings  me  a  large  quantity  of  washed  and 
ironed  clothes,  and  the  bill  is  something  of  a  curiosity. 
Thus:  eleven  handkerchiefs,  eleven  sous;  nine  pairs  of 
cuffs,  eighteen  sous;  and  six  collars,  six  sous.  Almost  in- 
variably these  are  very  well  starched.  Altogether  there 
are  forty-three  pieces,  and  the  whole  charge  is  about  eighty 
cents.  I  cannot  say  that  I  think  the  people  very  well 
paid,  but  while  in  Paris  I  hear  of  a  gentleman  who  was 
on  a  commission  from  France  to  our  Exhibition,  who  was 
charged  one  dollar  for  doing  up  a  shirt! 

Upon  my  bed  are  long  linen  sheets.  Madame  tells  me 
that  for  one  person  they  only  change  the  sheets  once  a 
month.  One  morning,  when  I  am  taking  my  coffee  with 
milk,  she  puts  a  little  into  hers,  saying  that  she  is  some- 
thing of  an  epicure,  a  little  gourviande.  Milk  is  about 
seven  sous  the  litre  (nearly  the  same  as  a  quart),  and  ordi- 
nary wine  is  about  thirteen  sous,  yet  I  understand  Victor 
to  say  that  he  and  his  wife  drink  three  litres  of  wine  a  day. 
Then  why  should  she  be  called  an  epicure  if  she  puts  milk 
into  coffee  ?  I  am  told  that  the  cheapest  tea  is  six  francs 
the  French  pound  (which  is  one-tenth  heavier  than  ours). 
I  have  said  that  the  only  question  asked  me  by  the  custom- 
house officer  was  whether  I  had  tea.  The  cheapest  coffee 
is  three  francs,  or,  unbrowned,  two  and  a  half.  Their 
taxes,  we  may  remember,  are  heavier  since  the  war.  Victor 
says  that  everything  is  taxed  but  perfumes,  and  that  they 
ought  to  be. 

To-<lay  I  go  to  Versjiilles,  about  thirteen  miles  from 
Paris.  Here  the  Assembly  or  I-H?gislature  still  meets,  both 
the  House  of  Deputies  and  the  Senate,  though  the  legislative 


PARIS.  77 

halls  iiiKler  Louis  Ngpoleon  were  in  Paris.  Versailles  is 
not  beautiful  after  Paris ;  is  any  city  ?  And  at  this  time 
there  is  an  immense  amount  of  life  in  Paris. 

Going  to  Versailles,  I  take  my  place  in  the  waiting-room 
for  second-class  passengers,  only  separated  from  the  first- 
class  by  a  low  partition,  so  we  can  behold  each  other. 
Those  gentlemen  carrying  papers  and  portfolios,  I  suppose, 
are  deputies.  As  we  go  to  the  cars,  one  with  gray  hair  is 
smoking,  and  public  smoking,  it  seems  to  me,  is  much  more 
common  in  Paris  than  in  London.  Arrived  at  Versailles, 
in  walking  from  the  station  to  the  palace  I  see  soldiers 
drawn  up  on  a  large  open  space.  "  What  soldiers  are 
those,  madame  ?"  I  inquire.  "  They  are  the  genie,^'  I 
understand  her  to  say,  "  from  those  barracks."  The  genie 
are  engineers.  "But  they  do  not  wear  red  trousers  like 
those  I  saw  in  Paris."  "  No,  this  is  undress"  (of  brown 
linen) ;  "  they  are  being  exercised."  I  wait  a  long  time 
in  the  antechamber  at  Versailles,  and  have  a  plenty  of 
time  to  observe  how  the  floor  is  laid,  and  see  the  busts 
around  the  room.  I  send  a  note  to  the  deputy  of  whom  I 
have  before  spoken,  and  an  attendant  takes  it ;  but  still  I 
wait.  I  note  the  bright  uniform  of  the  attendants,  their 
blue  coat's,  red  waistcoats,  and  gay  coat-collars.  There  are 
many  chairs  and  other  seats  around  the  room,  all  clean  and 
comfortable  but  not  showy;  becoming  to  a  republic,  a 
country  that  has  lately  lost  so  much.  After  waiting  a 
long  time  for  the  dei)uty,  I  venture  to  send  a  note  to  an- 
other. There  are  many  persons  present  now,  and  I  must 
be  attentive  to  hear  when  the  man  in  uniform  calls  out, 
"  The  person  who  demands  Mr.  Monier."  The  gentleman 
to  whom  I  have  last  written  comes,  and  I  am  at  length 
admitted  to  the  Chamber  of  Deputies,  the  Senate  not  being 
in  session  to-day.     I  am  not  much  more  than  seated,  high 


78  FRENCH  AND   BELGIANS. 

up  in  the  amphitheatre,  when  the  gentleman  appears  to 
whom  I  had  first  written,  witli  an  apology  for  not  having 
come  sooner.  He  had  not  seen  my  note,  he  had  been  on  a 
committee;  had  I  not  received  the  tickets  he  sent  me?  am 
I  alone?  I  find  no  pleasure  in  looking  on  at  this  great 
height,  being  unable  to  understand  what  is  said.  There 
are,  indeed,  ladies  seated  in  the  tier  below  me,  but,  of 
course,  I  cannot  ask  to  be  placed  there.  As  I  do  not  wish 
to  remain,  the  deputy  calls  upon  an  attendant  in  plain  clothes 
and  desires  him  to  show  me  around.  I  accompany  him,  and 
am  shown  pictures  of  the  battles  of  Louis  Napoleon,  im- 
mense jxiintings  about  the  Crimean  war,  the  Mexican,  the 
Italian,  the  Algerian.  Does  any  one  want  to  see  them  when 
there  is  so  much  more  to  see?  The  attendant  also  shows 
me  the  gorgeousness  of  the  interior  of  the  palace.  The 
most  interesting  thing  is  the  Senate-chamber,  which  the 
guide  tells  me  was  the  theatre  of  Louis  XIV.,  and  here  I 
imagine  that  great  Frenchman,  Molidre,  appearing  in  his 
own  plays ;  but  afterwards  I  learn  that  it  was  not  such. 

When  I  leave  the  guide  and  get  out  into  the  gardens,  I 
find  them  very  spacious  and  lonely;  they  want  the  life 
which  makes  the  Luxeml)ourg  gardens  so  interesting.  I 
think  it  was  a  Frenchman  who  said  that  what  is  wanting  to 
make  solitude  charming  is  the  presence  of  some  one  to 
wh<mi  you  can  siiy,  How  charming  is  solitude! 

To-day  the  great  fountains  are  not  playing. 

On  a  canal  or  artificial  piece  of  water  is  a  little  steam- 
boat, and  a  woman  tells  me  that  it  was  that  of  the  empress. 
She  had  lierself  seen  the  empress  several  times.  If  she 
could  be  sure  that  I  am  a  Bonapartist,  probably  she  would 
say  a  good  deal  more. 

lieturning  to  the  station,  I  inquire  the  way  of  a  gentle- 
man accompanied  by  a  little  girl.    In  the  buttonhole  of  his 


PARIS.  79 

coat  lie  wears  a  narrow  red  ribbon,  such  as  I  have  often 
before  noticed.  At  first  I  suppose  it  to  be  the  badge  of  an 
exhibitor;  to-day  I  have  tliought  that  it  may  indicate  a 
deputy;  and  the  little  red  button  or  cockade,  a  senator. 
I  venture,  however,  to  ask  this  gentleman,  on  the  street, 
what  the  ribbon  indicates.  He  says,  "  It  is  a  decoration. 
I  am  a  military  man."  Then  I  feel  that  I  have  been  pre- 
suming: it  is  the  badge  of  the  Legion  of  Honor.  I  wonder 
whether  he  got  that  dark  skin  in  Algiers,  and  whetiier  the 
streets  of  Versailles,  with  his  little  girl,  are  not  pleasanter 
than  the  sun  of  Africa.  Some  days  after  this  I  go  into  a 
great  dry-goods  store,  and  close  by  the  entrance,  as  if  to 
receive  customers,  stands  a  large  man,  wearing  the  little  red 
ribbon ;  then  I  am  a  little  amused. 

lleturning  from  Versailles  in  the  car  I  meet  another  man 
who  is  decorated.  He  is  j*)lly  looking,  and  he  has  a  little 
dull,  tricolor  ribbon  at  the  breast  of  his  coat.  This  was 
received  for  bravery,  or  good  deeds  done  at  a  fire.  A  medal 
belongs  with  it,  but  on  common  occasions  medals  are  not 
generally  worn. 


CHAPTER    VI. 


Tuesday,  May  lAth. — To-day  I  visit  an  asyle  or  infant 
school.  It  is  congr^garmte ;  it  is  kept  by  nuns,  Sisters  of  St. 
Vincent  de  Paul.  I  have  the  pleasure  of  meeting  here  a  lady 
who  is  a  lay  officer,  an  inspectress  of  several  of  these  schools. 

There  are  both  boys  and  girls,  for  under  the  age  of  six 
they  go  to  school  together.  The  little  ones  are  exercised 
upon  reading-tablets;  and  they  pronounce  the  syllables 
thus :  The  ap-ple  is  pret-ty ;  but  tiiey  do  not  pronounce  the 


80  FRENCH  AND  BELGIANS. 

words.  They  are  seated  upon  a  sort  of  graded  platform  or 
steps.  They  are  reading  in  concert,  but  generally  one  or 
more  pronounce  the  syllable  and  are  immediately  followed 
by  the  rest.  Usually  one  near  the  top  or  on  the  back  seat§ 
is  the  skilful  one.  Of  course  the  exercises  are  not  deeply 
interesting,  and  I  am  able  to  look  around  and  observe 
the  walls  painted  of  a  handsome  light-blue,  with  sen- 
tences very  neatly  painted  on  them :  thus,  "  Love  God 
with  all  thy  heart,  and  thy  neighbor  as  thyself."  "  The 
child  Jesus  was  obedient  to  Mary  and  Joseph."  On  the 
walls  are  also  painted  the  written  letters  of  the  alphabet, 
numerals,  and  other  things.  There  is  here  an  image  of 
Mary,  with  the  infant  Jesus,  the  whole  about  eighteen 
inches  high.  The  shelf  ujwn  which  this  image  stands 
seems  to  be  a  sort  of  shrine,  for  tiiere  are  plants  and  can- 
dles u|X)n  it;  and  once,  during  a  religious  exercise,  the 
candles  are  lighted.  In  the  outer  room  is  a  large,  hand- 
some picture  of  Christ  receiving  little  children,  with  a 
plate  telling  by  whom  it  was  presented.  The  Sisters  are 
in  white  sun-bonnets  or  caps,  and  white  cravats  doubled  on 
the  breast.  They  wear  dark  dresses  with  the  sleeves  turned 
up,  showing  thick  white  undersleeves,  and  cotton  aprons 
of  dark-blue,  with  a  narrow  stripe.  Instead  of  a  bell,  a 
Sister  has  something  resembling  a  snufF-box,  or  like  two 
muscle-shells  hinged  together,  and  this  she  claps.  The 
nuns  are  pleasant,  especially  the  elder.  They  have  a  lay 
woman  to  assist  them,  a  sort  of  servant.  I  have  s|X>ken 
of  the  children's  reading;  they  have  also  a  lesson  in  nu- 
meration. On  a  blackboard  (quite  small,  about  a  yard 
square)  she  writes  tiie  numlwrs,  and  they  appear  to  copy 
them  upon  their  slates,  going  Jis  high  as  tons  of  thousiuids. 
They  have  also  a  lesson  in  addition,  and  some  general  ex- 
ercises in  geography.     At  each  end  of  the  room  are  little 


PARIS.  81 

benches  to  receive  the  children  wlien  not  seated  on  the  reci- 
tation-steps. There  are  two  gravel  le<l  yards  for  them  to 
])lay  in,  not  very  large  to  be  sure,  one  for  the  boys  and 
one  for  the  girls,  separated  by  a  low  fence,  furnished  with 
seats  and  planted  with  trees.  They  have  some  little  gym- 
nastic exercise,  but  nothing  of  importance.  They  have  two 
simple  religious  exercises.  The  inspectress  comes  in  on  a 
visit,  she  of  whom  I  have  spoken  before, — Madame  D,,  a 
well-dressed  and  agreeable  person,  who  has  charge  of  five 
infant  schools.  She  says  that  there  are  here  a  directress,  or 
head-teacher,  and  two  assistants;  and  that,  in  these  clerical 
schools,  all  these  are  paid  equally.  One  of  the  assistants  is 
sick  to-day.  In  conversation,  the  inspectress  admires  the 
idea  of  co-education  of  the  sexes.  I  tell  her  that  I  have 
seen  a  statement  that  one-fourth  of  the  births  in  Paris  are 
illegitimate.  I  understand  her  to  reply  that  these  births 
take  place  in  certain  quarters  of  the  city,  among  ouvriers 
and  ouvrieres,  or  working-people.  She  asks  the  principal 
how  many  such  cliildren  there  are  here,  and  the  Sister  an- 
swers four:  as  the  children  are  going  out  she  makes  some 
pretext  to  call  upon  these,  and  three  stand  up.  The  in- 
spectress thinks  that  these  are  very  few  in  so  large  a  school. 
I  am  struck  with  the  nun's  knowing  so  much  about  them, 
but  I  imagine  it  to  be  natural  for  an  unmarried,  childless 
woman  to  interest  herself  in  the  children  of  others.  As 
yet,  I  had  not  learned  of  the  wonderful  record  which 
France  keeps  and  uses  concerning  births. 


To-day  I  pay  for  making  a  silk  dress  six  dollars.  It 
will  he  observed  that  in  this  thickly-settled  country  the 
price  of  labor  is  low;  but,  in  Paris,  the  ex|>enses  of  living 
are  heavv.    When  wages  are  low  and  food  dear,  we  see  how 


82  FRENCH  AND  BELGIANS. 

the  poor  are  likely  to  fare.  I  have  mentioned  my  low  wash- 
ing bill, — the  clothing  was  very  simply  made.  At  Leblanc's 
we  burn  candles,  not  long  ones,  but  they  cost  about  three 
cents  apiece.  Victor  has  a  handsome  lamp  for  colza  oil ; 
but  it  does  not  appear  to  be  a  great  success.  He  does  not 
like  coal  oil.  Our  sugar  is  very  nice,  and  is  about  fourteen 
and  a  half  cents  per  pound.  It  could  be  obtsiined  very 
much  cheaper,  if  all  obstructions  on  trade  were  removed. 
The  octroi  or  city  tax  of  Paris  adds  to  the  cost  of  many 
articles,  though  at  the  period  when  these  octrois  were  first 
established,  I  suppose  that  they  were  intended  to  make  the 
country-people  pay  for  the  privilege  of  selling  in  the  cities. 
The  octroi  upon  butcher's  meat  brought  into  Paris  is  about 
one  cent  |)er  pound  ;  that  on  sausages  and  hams  nearly  twice 
as  much.*  Mrs.  Leblanc  tells  me  that  there  are  nine  fam- 
ilies or  persons  whose  apartments  are  on  our  court-yard. 
Lately,  two  men  are  in  it  l)eating  a  carpet,  said  to  belong 
to  the  proprietor  or  landlord,  the  only  person  who  has  a 
right  to  have  this  done  in  the  coitr.  A  man  and  woman 
also  shake  a  handsome  curtain,  and  Mrs.  L.  thinks  it  prob- 
able that  the  proprietor  is  getting  ready  to  go  to  the  country. 
When  I  ask  her  how  many  of  the  families  on  this  court- 
yard have  children  (for  as  yet  I  have  seen  no  little  ones) 
she  answers  that  she  cannot  tell,  adding  "  We  do  not  occupy 
ourselves  with  our  neighbors."  I  suggest  that  the  concierge 
would  know,  but  she  thinks  it  would  not  do  to  inquire, 
sjiying  that  the  people  are  r^adionnaires,  or  opposed  to  the 
new  republic.  We  have  a  back-yard  also,  upon  which  two 
of  our  windows  open.  In  looking  out  from  our  height  it  is 
almost  like  a  well,  it  is  so  small  for  a  yard,  and  so  deep. 
Nevertheless,  we  can  hang  things  out  the  windows  to  dry, 


♦"Galignnnl'8  Guide,"  1873. 


PARIS.  83 

upon  a  bit  of  line.  "  We  are  in  a  cage,"  Madame  Leblane 
once  complains  to  me;  but  I  doubt  her  desiring  to  leave 
this  handsome  cage  to  go  and  live  outside  of  the  octroi  gates, 
in  the  suburbs,  at  a  distance  from  the  life  of  these  streets, 
and  from  the  animated  public  gardens. 


May  15th. — To-day  I  visit  a  grammar  school,  or,  in 
Paris  phrase,  a  communal  school  for  primary  instruction. 
These  schools  are  divided  into  Catholic,  Protestant,  and  one 
Jewish  ;  whence  it  appears  that  as  Paris  is  a  very  large 
city,  either  the  Jews  must  all  live  in  one  quarter  or  send 
their  children  to  other  schools.  The  one  I  visit  to-day  is 
Catholic.  The  dipectress  or  head-teacher  tells  me  that  there 
is  no  school  on  Thursday  or  Sunday,  but  that  the  children 
must  meet  at  the  school  and  be  conducted  to  church  on  both 
days  by  a  teacher,  who  afterwards  brings  them  back  to  the 
school,  where  they  separate.  I  do  not  understand  that 
teachers  are  obligetl  to  do  this,  but  that  it  is  expected  of 
them.  "But  why  not  let  them  go  with  their  parents?" 
I  ask.  She  shrugs  her  slioulders  very  expressively.  The 
greater  part  of  the  parents  do  not  go  themselves.  In  this 
school  there  are  four  teachers,  all  married  but  one.  The 
principal  tells  me  that  she  has  taught  in  the  public  schools 
of  Paris  for  seventeen  years,  has  been  married  thirteen, 
and  has  a  son  of  twelve  who  is  in  the  college  where  his 
father  is  a  professor.  I  tell  her  that  in  my  country  married 
women  do  not  generally  teach.  She  replies  that  in  Paris 
living  is  dear  and  salaries  are  small.  She  has  her  residence 
in  the  school-building,  as  is  common  at  Paris, 

To-<lay,  I  visit  principally  the  fourth  or  lowest  class. 
The  scholars  enter  at  the  age  of  six,  not  knowing,  in  gen- 
eral, how  to  read.    The  teacher  tells  me  that  the  parents  do 


84  FRENCH  AND  BELGIANS. 

not  like  the  asyles  or  infant  schools;  tiiese  being  usnally 
the  place  for  children  whose  parents  want  to  get  rid  of 
them.  It  takes  from  six  months  to  two  years  to  learn  to 
read.  The  teacher  has  a  printed  diary,  in  which  she  is  to 
enter  every  day's  exercises.  The  first  hour  is  to  be  devoted  to 
religions  instruction  in  the  catechism,  the  gospel,  and  sacred 
history.  Under  this  head,  the  teacher  had  made  these  en- 
tries for  to-day  :  "  Recitation  of  the  Prayers ;  Study  of  the 
Catechism  and  Questions;  Daniel,  his  whole  History."  The 
next  hour  is  given  to  reading.  Writing  comes  next  on  the 
printed  form,  but  to-day  she  has  this  in  tiie  afternoon,  and 
in  the  morning  a  lesson  on  the  French  language.  One 
hour  of  the  afternoon  is  to  be  given  to  calculation  and  the 
metric  system,  that  remarkable  French  method  by  which 
coins,  weights,  and  measures  are  brought  to  decimals  (and 
multiples  of  ten),  as  is  our  Federal  money.  The  next  hour 
on  the  teacher's  programme  is  marked  history  and  geog- 
raphy, but  the  exercises  are  so  arranged  that  to-<lay  they 
are  sewing  from  three  to  four;  tiie  older  girls  sew  three 
hours  in  the  week.  I  hear  that  of  late  it  has  been  required 
to  teach  cutting  also,  but  I  see  little  or  none.  I  tell  the 
teacher  that  sewing  is  out  of  fashion  in  our  public  schools, 
and  mention  how  ditfercnt  it  is  with  us, — how  the  mothers 
slay  at  home  and  take  cure  of  their  families;  but  she  tells 
me  (just  as  if  the  children  could  not  understand  her)  that 
almost  all  these  women  (the  mothers)  work  to  help  support 
their  families.  In  this  class,  which  begins  at  the  age  of 
six,  religious  instruction  is  given  in  the  little  catechism  of 
the  diocese  of  Paris,  printed  by  order  of  Iiis  eminence. 
Cardinal  Guibert,  archbishop  of  Paris.  Although  this 
school  is  Catholic,  Protestants  may  come,  of  course,  if  they 
choose;  one  little  pupil  is  a  Jewess,  and  stands  in  prayer, 
instead  of  kneeling.    Every  morning  they  have  the  Lord's 


PARIS.  85 

Prayer,  the  Hail  Mary,  and  the  Creed  ;  and  at  noon  all  the 
cla&ses  have  another  prayer  of  about  fourteen  lines. 

One  of  the  most  striking  peculiarities,  although  a  small 
one,  in  this  communal  school,  is  the  want  of  a  little  bell. 
While  I  am  here  the  teachers  "  Sh !"  the  children  or  else 
make  a  little  whistling  with  the  mouth,  which,  I  should 
think,  would  not  have  much  effect,  although  the  children 
do  not  behave  badly.  The  hours  of  afternoon-school  are 
from  one  to  four. 

The  pay  of  teachers  in  the  boys'  grammar  schools  begins 
as  low  as  two  thousand  francs  a  year,  or  about  four  hundred 
dollars;  but  of  this  the  city  retains  the  twentieth  part  (and 
sometimes  more)  towards  their  pension.  Their  pay  is 
gradually  raised  every  three  years,  until  it  reaches  two 
thousand  six  hundred  francs,  or  about  five  hundred  and 
twenty  dollars,  always  keeping  back  a  portion.  In  addi- 
tion, however,  the  principal  receives  his  dwelling.  The 
pension,  obtained  after  many  years'  service,  is,  in  amount, 
half  of  the  highest  salary,  or  here  about  two  hundred  and 
sixty  dollars.     Women,  as  well  as  men,  receive  a  pension. 


Victor  last  evening  was  speaking  of  the  Coquerels,  who 
were  Unitarian  ministers,  or  liberal  Protestant?. 

"Why  do  you  not  join  them?"  I  ask. 

"  I  see  no  need  of  my  joining  them ;  let  those  join  them 
who  do." 

"  But  do  you  not  believe  that  this  world  is  so  constructed 
that  the  man  who  practises  truth  and  love  to  his  fellows  is 
the  happy  man,  and  he  who  does  not  is  the  unhappy  one  ?" 

"  No,  I  do  not ;  quite  the  reverse." 

"  Then  why  do  you  practise  virtue  ?" 

5 


«6  FRENCH  AND  BELGIANS. 

"  Because  my  conscience  tells  me  to.  Quakers  say  the 
Spirit,  but  I  say  my  conscience." 

He  has  heard  one  speaking  lately  of  Quakers ;  I  suppose 
he  knew  nothing  of  them  before. 

At  Mr.  Carpentier's,  in  the  evening,  similar  subjects  are 
up,  and  I  understand  Mr.  C.  to  call  Victor  a  fanatical 
atheist,  and  to  add,  "  Because  the  priests  use  the  name  of 
God,  he  Mill  not  use  it;  because  they  speak  of  the  Bible, 
he  is  opposed  to  it,  without  having  read  it."  As  I  have 
heard  that  Mr.  Carpentier  himself  was  a  Catholic  until  a 
considerable  age,  I  inquire  what  turned  him  against  Cathol- 
icism. He  answers  that  it  was  the  exercise  of  his  reason, 
first,  on  the  subject  of  indulgences;  second,  on  the  idea  that 
sins  can  be  forgiven  by  a  man.  But  what  he  especially  dis- 
likes at  this  time  is  that  the  right  of  the  individual,  the  right 
of  private  judgment,  is  given  up  in  the  church.  In  conver- 
sation I  tell  the  company  of  the  independence  of  church  and 
state  in  our  country,  and  of  the  freedom  of  the  press,  in 
which  we  excel  them.  They  do  not  deny  this,  but  when 
they  find  that  the  testimony  of  a  person  in  a  court  of  jus- 
tice may  Imj  refused  if  he  does  not  believe  in  God  and  in 
future  rewards  and  punishments,  they  think  that  here  they 
surpass  us  in  freedom.  They  also  ask  whether  we  can 
work  on  Sunday,  and  when  I  say  no,  they  again  claim  that 
they  have  greater  freedom  in  this  res^)ect. 


Another  subject  up  is  divorce.  The  law  of  France  docs 
not  allow  it  (except,  doubtless,  on  those  few  jwints  in  which 
the  Catholic  Church  <loes).  It  does  not  allow  divorce,  even 
for  adultery.  A  law  passed  in  1804,  under  Napoleon  I., 
permitted  divorce;  but  in  1816,  after  the  restoration  of  the 
Bourbons,  this  was  abolished,  and  for  it  was  substituted  the 


PARIS.  87 

separation  of  bodies,  or  of  bodies  and  goods.  Even  the 
party  who  sues  and  obtains  this  separation  cannot  marry, 
and  I  am  told  tliat  such  half-divorced  persons  often  form 
illegitimate  connections.  If  I  mistake  not,  the  Code  Napo- 
l6on  allowed  divorce  on  the  continued,  mutual  request  of 
the  parties;  perhaps  it  was  this  provision  which  caused  the 
abrogation  of  the  whole  law.  But  while  they  have  adopted 
the  rule  of  the  church  upon  divorce,  it  seems  somewhat 
strange  that  a  marriage  in  church  is  not  a  lawful  one,  the 
only  legal  marriage  being  the  civil  one,  in  the  mayor's 
office. 

This  evening,  at  Mr.  Carpentier's,  I  am  rebuked  by  an 
elderly  gentleman,  a  member  of  the  municipal  council.  I 
make  the  rash  suggestion  that  there  was  no  marriage  dur- 
ing the  time  of  their  first  revolution.  The  municipal 
counsellor  rejoins,  "Yes  there  was, — the  civil  marriage. 
"What  do  you  take  us  for,  cats  and  dogs  ?" 

There  are  persons  in  France  who  desire  to  establish  a 
divorce  law  like  ours.  As  regards  the  legal  separation, 
I  find  it  noteworthy  that  a  woman  can  obtain  it  if  her 
husband  strikes  her. 

This  evening  there  is  present  a  very  pretty  lady  from 
the  provinces,  besides  several  men.  Something  brings  up 
the  subject,  and  she  inquires  whether  there  is  not  a  baby  at 
the  house  of  a  certain  friend.  Some  one  replies,  "Not 
yet;  there  is  going  to  be."     Whereupon  I  laugh  and  tell 

them  that  we  do  not  talk  about  such  things  until "  Till 

when  ?"  "  Until  they  are  born.  We  women  talk  on  these 
subjects."  I  might  have  said  we  do  not  in  mixed  com- 
panies. 

I  tell  them  this  evening  of  one  of  my  friends  at  home 


38  FRENCH  AND  BELGIANS. 

who  greatly  fears  Catliollcism,  and  who  thinks  tliat  on 
account  of  it  the  French  cannot  succeed  in  establisliing  a 
republican  government.  Whereupon  a  gentleman  says  that 
this  cannot  prevent;  adding  that  there  are  Catholic  cantons 
in  Switzerland  that  have  been  republican  since  the  time  of 
AVilliara  Tell.  

May  16th. — At  the  Exposition  I  observe  the  sugar  in  the 
Russian  department.  It  will  be  remembered  what  a  quan- 
tity of  beautiful  sugar  the  Russians  exhibited  at  Philadel- 
phia. Two  men  whom  I  see  to-day  give  me  a  piece  of  the 
Russian,  which  is  from  beets,  and  from  them  I  obtiiin  in- 
formation also.  Between  French  and  German  we  manage 
to  communicate  ideas,  and  by  turning  their  puts  into  kilo- 
grammes and  thence  into  our  pounds,  and  their  roubles  into 
francs  and  cents  or  dollars,  I  am  able  to  eliminate  the 
statement  that  they  could  afford  to  furnish  the  French  with 
the  best  sugar  of  Russia  at  about  eight  cents  the  pound, 
if  the  French  would  let  them.  Victor  is  giving  about 
fourteen. 

I  meet  at  the  Exposition  with  a  French  acquaintance,  who 
was  in  our  own  country  several  years  on  business,  lie  is 
from  a  central  part  of  France,  and  I  have  been  planning 
to  obtain  through  him  board  at  a  farm-house.  He  says 
that  board  would  be  very  low,  but  he  thinks  that  I  shall 
not  be  satisfied  with  it,  adding  that  I  shall  find  no  carpet 
upon  the  floor.  But  I  tell  him  I  shall  not  care  about  the 
carpet. 

Victor  gives  me  the  following  figures.  That  he  makes 
the  comparis<m  is  of  interest,  even  if  the  figures  be  not 
strictly  correct.  lie  says  that  the  expenditure  of  the 
United  States  in  1876  was,  for  public  instruction,  $125,- 


PARIS.  89 

000,000,  and  for  warlike  purposes,  $12,000,000.  That 
of  France  he  gives  at  only  $8,400,000  for  public  instruc- 
tion, and  $140,000,000  for  the  army. 

He  tells  me  that  the  new  opera-house  at  Paris,  or 
National  Academy  of  Music,  was  built  by  the  state  at  an 
expense  of  63,000,000  of  francs,  or  about  12,000,000 
of  dollars,  and  he  complains  that  although  his  money 
helped  to  build  it  he  cannot  afford  to  enter  it;  but  I  un- 
derstand him  to  mean  at  a  representation.  In  looking  at 
this  great  building  it  seems  to  me  glaring  and  inharmonious 
with  its  gilded  figures  and  marble  of  different  colors.  It 
was  begun  during  the  Empire  in  1868,  and  finished  in 
1875.*  

My  American  friend  lives  up  two  flights  of  stairs,  on 
what  is  generally  the  handsomest  floor  of  the  house.  She 
has  a  vestibule  or  antechamber ;  a  parlor,  fourteen  feet  by 
eighteen ;  a  dining-room ;  two  good-sized  sleeping-rooms, 
and  two  smaller  rooms;  two  rooms  on  the  sixth,  or  up  six 
flights  of  stairs ;  a  kitchen,  and  two  cellar-rooms.  She  has 
no  bath,  and  no  gas  except  in  the  vestibule  and  kitchen. 
She  has  taken  the  rooms  unfurnished  on  a  lease  for  three 
years.  Besides  her  rent,  she  pays  the  owner  the  door  and 
window  tax,  and  her  share  of  the  expense  of  the  entry  and 
staire-carpet.  She  also  pays  the  city  of  Paris  a  tax  on 
residence  and  furniture,  the  whole  amounting  to  about 
$760  yearly.  On  the  same  floor  is  a  suite  of  rooms  some- 
what larger,  and  looking  upon  a  more  fashionable  street, 
which  rent  for  nearly  twice  as  much  as  my  friend  pays. 

*  I  feel  inclined,  in  turning  French  money  into  our  own,  to  make 
the  calculation  on  the  basis  of  nineteen  cents  to  the  franc,  or,  per- 
haps, of  five  francs  to  the  dollar,  and  to  abandon  the  awkwardness 
of  the  repeated  expression,  about  ten  dollars,  and  so  on. 


90  FRENCH  AND  BELGIANS. 

May  17th. — The  letter  of  introduction  wliich  I  brought 
from  Mr.  L.,  in  Piiiladelphia,  is  addressed  to  three  gentle- 
men, to  two  of  whom  I  presented  it  some  time  ago,  and 
to-day  I  breakfast  with  the  third.  Tiie  time  mentioned  in 
the  note  of  invitation  was  11.15,  but  Victor  thinks  that  I 
must  get  there  sooner,  lest  it  should  look  as  if  I  came  for 
my  breakfast!  I  find  the  gentleman's  house  very  pleas- 
antly situated  beyond  one  of  the  octroi  gates,  but  in  a 
a  district  closely  built.  Reaching  the  street  and  number, 
I  find  a  wall,  within  which  is  a  large  enclosure,  for  here 
the  gentleman  has  about  two  and  a  half  acres;  and,  besides 
his  own  dwelling,  there  are  houses  upon  the  ground,  in 
which  live  married  daughters.  Is  it  not  quite  patriarchal 
for  the  suburbs  of  Paris  ? 

I  find  that  I  am  before  time,  for  one  of  the  daughters 
comes  in  to  receive  me,  her  manners  and  dress  being  simple 
and  unpretending.  I  will  call  my  hast  Mr.  Pierre.  Ma- 
dame comes  in  ere  long,  in  a  buff  dre&s  trimmed  with  brown. 
She  speaks  English  very  well,  and  Mr.  Pierre  can  also 
speak  our  tongue.  They  were  once  Catholics,  but  are  now 
interested  in  another  church  or  society.  There  are  busts, 
in  the  house,  of  Mr.  Pierre's  father,  who  held  an  office  of 
some  importance  under  the  government, — a  life-office.  He 
wears— or  the  bust  does — a  wide  embroidered  cravat,  and  he 
looks  like  an  important  person.  Before  breakfast  I  have 
some  conversation  with  a  nice-looking  young  gentleman, 
one  of  the  sons-in-law.  I  speak  of  visiting  one  of  the 
prisons  of  Paris,  but  I  understand  that  he  thinks  I  shall 
have  difficulty  in  obtaining  permission,  for  there  was  a 
prisoner  who  did  iiimself  some  injury  after  a  stranger  came 
in,  saying  that  he  was  not  a  wild  beast  to  be  stared  at;  and 
then  the  prison  for  women,  St.  Lazare,  is  so  old  that  they 
would  be  ashamed  of  it.     He  wants  me  to  visit  a  peniten- 


PARIS.  91 

tiary  colony  in  another  department,  Indre-et-Loire,  but  this 
will  not  suit  me.  Madame  Pierre  thinks  that  if  I  get  a 
line  from  our  American  minister,  I  shall  be  more  likely 
to  succeed. 

It  is  not  rare  in  our  own  country  to  have  recourse  to  the 
photographic  album  when  strangers  visit  us,  and  madame 
shows  me  hers,  with  pictures  of  her  four  eldest  daugliters 
when  young  girls.  They  are  in  simple  dresses,  dark  and 
plainly  made,  with  white  collars,  and  dark  sashes  tied  be- 
hind. I  tell  her  that  if  it  were  not  for  the  sashes  they 
might  pass  for  Quaker  girls.  Mr.  and  Mrs.  P.  have  a 
larger  family  than  most  Parisians ;  there  were  twelve  chil- 
dren, of  whom  nine  are  living.  Madame  Pierre  has  also ' 
photographs  of  several  of  my  friends  in  America,  members 
of  a  society  in  which  Mr.  P.  is  interested. 

My  invitation  was  to  a  breakfast  en  famille, — an  uncere- 
monious one ;  and  I  do  not  remember  that  any  servant  was 
in  the  room  during  meal-time,  all  the  dishes  being  upon 
the  table  at  the  beginning.  The  parents,  the  four  sons, 
with  two  daughters,  the  Italian,  German,  and  English 
governesses,  with  two  or  more  guests,  fill  a  good-sized 
table.  The  oldest  son,  who  is  getting  a  beard,  does  not 
look  very  well,  and  as  the  father  comes  into  the  room  he 
kisses  this  son,  which  makes  me  fear  that  there  is  some- 
thing the  matter;  but  madame  explains  that  he  is  preparing 
for  his  examination.  The  youngest  child  is  a  girl,  who,  as 
she  goes  to  her  place,  stops  beside  me  for  me  to  kiss  her. 
As  I  now  prepare  this  volume  in  my  own  country,  I  recall 
that  there  was  something  animating  in  that  dining-room 
upon  the  ground-floor,  looking  out  upon  the  pleasant  en- 
closure. I  have  been  censured  for  speaking  so  much  about 
eating;  but  simple  details  of  every-day  life  help  to  relieve 
the  mind,  which  might   become  fatigued  if  I  spoke  of 


92  FRENCH  AND  BELGIANS, 

nothing  but  schools  and  religions  parties  and  the  military. 
The  dish  that  most  surprises  me  liere  is  a  plate  of  butter, 
as  I  have  sat  down  to  so  many  meals  without  it.  It  is 
soft,  but  very  good,  and  without  much  salt.  We  have 
boiled  eggs ;  a  large  dish  of  mutton  sliced  and  warmed  up 
with  the  gravy ;  and  there  is  something  that  looks  like  a 
loaf  of  bread,  but  proves  to  be  one  of  the  richest  dishes 
that  I  have  tasted  in  France.  Madame  P.  allows  me  to 
note  its  contents:  within  the  crust  is  vermicelli  or  small 
macaroni,  mushrooms,  and  livers  of  poultry,  and  it  is  called 
a  timbale  MUanaise.  There  is  no  ice  upon  the  butter,  but 
there  is  a  little  upon  a  dish  resembling  cnrds,  which  proves 
to  be  cottage-t  hcese,  delicate,  and  doubtless  made  from  sweet 
milk.  Mr.  Pierre  takes  sugar  with  his;  we  have  nice 
cream  to  ])our  over  it,  and  it  is  flavored  with  vanilla.  Not 
much  wine  is  drunk.  After  the  ciieese  with  cream,  the 
boys  leave  and  coffee  is  served, — very  good  coffee, — milk 
being  brought  for  me  especially.  Madame  Pierre  gives  me 
some  account  of  the  son-in-law  whom  I  have  seen  and 
admired.  He  is  from  the  south  of  France;  they  were 
there,  and  he  fell  in  love  with  her  daughter,  then  about 
fifteen,  and  several  years  after  they  were  married.  I  re- 
mark that  such  marriages  are  rare  here,  and  that  they  have 
marriages  de  convenancc,  and  madame  replies  that  she  has 
known  some  happy  marriages  of  that  kind;  she  seems  to 
avoiil  the  expression  mariages  de  convenance  (of  propriety, 
of  suitableness).  I  remark  that  it  is  not  so  common  here 
as  it  is  with  us  for  nien  of  means  to  marry  poor  women ; 
and  she  replies  that  here  rich  women  sometimes  marry 
men  without  property,  who  are  men  of  parts,  or  likely  to 
distinguish  themselves. 

May  ISth. — At  breakfast  to-day,  Victor  tells  me  that  he 


PARIS.  93 

has  understood  that  there  was  a  woman  in  America  who 
made  seven  millions  of  dollars  by  procuring  abortions. 
He  adds,  "  That  does  not  speak  well  for  the  Americans, 
does  it?"  "That  was  frightful,"  say  he  and  his  wife. 
"  Don't  you  think  so?"  he  adds. 


After  this  midday  breakfast,  I  again  visit  the  communal 
school  lately  mentioned,  desiring  to  visit  the  third  class, 
for  I  began  at  the  lowest.  It  is  Saturday  afternoon  ;  but 
their  holiday,  as  I  have  before  said,  is  Thursday.     On  my 

arrival,  Madame ,  the  principal,  tells  me  that  thirty  of 

her  ])upils  are  absent  at  church ;  that  next  week  there  will 
be  almost  constant  interruptions,  because  of  the  first  com- 
munion ;  that  from  the  age  of  ten  to  twelve  children  are 
prepared  for  their  first  communion,  and  that  they  have  to 
be  absent  at  church,  for  confession  or  to  be  catechised,  so 
frequently  as  to  cause  great  derangement  in  the  classes ;  that 
those  whom  they  accompany  to  church  on  Thursday  are 
those  who  are  preparing  for  their  first  communion.  She 
repeats  that  one  of  them  is  expected  always  to  be  here  on 
Sunday  morning  to  accompany  the  children  to  church,  add- 
ing, that  not  more  than  sixty  come  on  Sunday  for  this  pur- 
pose, or  only  about  oue-third ;  that  of  the  remainder  she 
does  not  suppose  that  more  than  twenty  go  to  church,  be- 
cause there  is,  in  matters  of  religion,  a  great  indifference. 
Other  remarks  I  suppress,  from  prudential  motives.  As  I 
have  said,  my  visit  this  afternoon  is  to  the  third  class.  The 
teacher  of  this  class  tells  me  that  half  of  the  children  are 
absent  at  church,  and  I  see  that  the  benches  are  not  filled. 
If  the  public  were  allowed  to  visit  the  schools  these  things 
might  be  changed. 

In  this  class,  girls  of  ten  are  ciphering  in  division  of 

5* 


94  FRENCH  AND  BELGIANS. 

decimals.  I  have  not  yet  discovered  tliat  there  is  any 
mental  arithmetic  in  the  girls'  communal  schools;  but 
there  seems  to  be  some  good  practical,  of  which  I  bring 
away  an  example  in  decimals,  done  by  a  little  girl  of  nine. 
The  teacher  dictates  to  them  some  problems  to  be  done  at 
home,  or  out  of  school-hours.  These  are  devoirs  or  duties, 
and  this  expression  is  also  applied  to  compositions.  It  is 
not  long  before  some  of  the  children  come  back  from 
church.  One  brings  an  engraving,  a  very  pretty  one, 
"Jesus  blessing  St.  Joseph."  Another  has  a  gilt-etlged 
book,  "Illustrious  Christians  from  St.  Peter  to  St.  Au- 
gustine."    Within  the  book  is  a  slip  of  paper,  bearing 

the  words,  "  Parish  of .     Souvenir  of  the  Catechism 

of  the  1st  Communion."  About  half-past  two  (school 
begins  at  one)  ten  or  twelve  return,  bringing  books  or  pic- 
tures,— all  have  something.  These,  I  learn,  are  still  too 
young  for  the  first  communion;  they  have  been  examined 
in  the  Little  Catechistn.     The  teacher  of  this  third  class  is 

Madame .     She,  too,  is  the  mother  of  a  family,  having 

one  child.  The  teacher  of  the  fourth  class, — she  whose 
class  I  lately  visited, — being  now  sick,  there  is  in  her  class  a 
substitute  or  rempla^arUe,  appointed  thus:  if  one  of  the 
teachers  is  sick,  she  calls  in  a  physician,  who  gives  her  a 
certificate  that  she  is  not  able  to  teach,  and  tells  her  how 
many  days  she  will  probably  be  disabled.  She  sends  the 
certificate  to  Mr.  Gr6ard,  at  the  Luxembourg,  with  a  request 
that  she  shall  have  a  rempld^nte.  There  is  a  body  of  these 
8ul)stitutcs  i)rovided  by  the  city  or  by  the  dej)artment,  and 
by  it  paid,  so  that  the  teacher  docs  not  lose  any  part  of  iier 
salary.  I  tell  Madame ,  whose  class  I  am  now  visit- 
ing, how  our  teachers  in  the  country  where  I  live  have 
been  accustomed  to  go  round  and  visit  other  schools.  She 
says  that  tiiese  substitutes,  male  and  female,  go  from  one 


PARIS.  95 

end  of  Paris  to  the  other,  and  that  she  herself  is  liable  to 
he  clianged  to  any  other  school  or  class  of  the  same  grade. 
Madame  also  tells  me  of  the  little  Jewess  here  (and  a  pretty- 
little  Jewess  she  is)  that  she  is  not  obliged  to  go  to  church. 
She  rises  during  the  prayer  and  the  creed.  The  teacher 
stands  also,  but  most  of  the  pupils  kneel  upon  their  seats. 
Before  school  closes,  the  principal  comes  into  this  class- 
room, to  give  notice  that  at  half-past  three  to-morrow,  Sun- 
day, the  scholars  who  are  to  be  catechised  for  their  first  com- 
munion will  be  here  to  go  to  church.  On  Monday  and  Tues- 
day those  who  are  to  go  to  church  to  be  catechised  will 
bring  their  baskets  (with  their  breakfasts).  The  scholars 
who  live  at  a  distance  are  generally  allowed  to  bring  their 
baskets;  but  now,  on  account  of  the  first  communion,  those 
who  are  going  to  be  catechised  will  go  to  church  morning 
and  afternoon.  I  hear  that  to-morrow,  Sunday,  the  teach- 
ei-s  have  to  go  to  church  twice,  on  account  of  the  first  com- 
munion. They  are  not  forced  to  go,  but  it  is  expected  of 
them,  to  keep  the  children  in  order. 


One  thing  that  surprises  me  at  Paris  is  the  manner  in 
which  one  dish  is  introduced  after  another, — dishes  that  we 
should  serve  together.  This  evening,  at  dinner,  we  have  a 
nice  little  bit  of  veal,  roasted  as  I  have  before  described, 
and  then  laid  into  a  large  dish  of  boiled  sorrel,  the  juice  or 
gravy  being  poured  over.  I  eat  heartily,  with  bread,  water, 
and  wine;  and  after  eating  his  veal  Victor  goes  out,  and 
what  he  is  doing  I  do  not  know.  He  has  already  put  upon 
the  table  a  plate  of  little  oranges  and  apples,  and  what  is 
he  doing?  He  appears  with  a  small,  soft  cheese, — very 
small, — a  very  little  butter  in  a  dish  with  water  in  it,  and 
then,  quite  triumphantly,  as  it  were,  he  produces  a  dish  of 


96  FRENCH  AND  BELGIANS. 

asliy-looking  potatoes  in  their  skins.  I  laugh,  and  tell  him 
that  with  us  we  eat  the  potatoes  with  our  meat.  He  says 
that  they  sometimes  have  potatoes  around  the  meat,  but 
that  they  never  eat  them  with  meat  when  thus  cooked.  No, 
it  is  to  be  a  distinct  treat,  it  seems,  of  potatoes  and  butter. 
I  wonder  whether  this  manner  of  bringing  on  one  dish 
after  another  is  in  any  way  connected  with  scarcity  of  fuel 
or  with  economy,  so  that  a  fire  need  only  be  lighted  in  one 
of  those  little  receptacles  for  charcoal? 


In  the  evening  I  am  again  at  Mr.  Carjientier's.  A  com- 
munication from  America  is  read,  and  the  question  is  be- 
fore us  of  the  non-resistant  views  of  a  certain  peace  scwiety 
in  America.  I  apply  to  them  the  saying  of  Jesus  :  "  But 
I  say  unto  you  that  ye  resist  not  evil ;  but  whosoever  shall 
sn)ite  thee  upon  thy  right  cheek,  turn  to  him  the  other 
also."  Then  Mr.  CariKJUtier  says  that  the  opinions  of  a 
society  in  which  he  is  active  here  are  founded  upon  duty 
and  i'if/ht,  which  were  the  ideas  of  their  llevolution,  and 
which  he  prefers  to  Christianity. 

Among  the  guests  is  the  pretty  lady  before  spoken  of;  I 
will  call  her  Madame  Vibert-Fontaine,  Vibert  l)eing  her 
husband's  name  and  Fontaine  hers  before  marriage,  written 
in  the  op|>osite  manner  from  our  own.  She  gives  me  their 
cards, — Charles  Vibert-Fontaine,  Marie  Vibert-Fontaine, 
without  any  titles.  She  explains  to  me  that  if  a  man  in 
business  thus  joins  his  wife's  name  to  his  own,  the  property 
of  the  wife  is  resjmnsible  for  the  husband's  debts.  She 
d(K'8  not  know  whether  their  little  son  will  choose  to  keep 
l)Oth  names,  but  she  hoj)es  he  will.  I  frequently  meet  in 
Paris — for  they  reside  here — a  gentleman  and  lady  from 
Alsace,  to  whom  I  will  give  English  names,  calling  him 


PARIS.  97 

Brown  and  her  Smith.  He  writes  himself  Brown-Smith, 
but  she  writes  lierself  Brownsmith.  There  is  in  Paris 
Madame  Marie  Pape-Carpentier,  autlior  of  a  little  work 
wJiich  I  saw  at  the  infant  school.  I  thought  of  calling 
upon  her,  and  was  told  to  look  for  the  name  Pape.  After- 
wards, in  the  north  of  France,  I  found  this  joining  of 
names  extremely  common  ;  but  I  do  not  remember  it  where 
I  was  located  in  the  centre.  It  will  now  ap[)ear  why  the 
deputy  inquired  for  Mrs.  Ward  when  speaking  of  Julia 
Ward  Howe. 

This  evening  Mr.  Carpentier  is  speaking  again  about  the 
hasty  marriages  made  in  France,  and  mentions  that  a  lady 
of  his  acquaintance  met  a  gentleman  who  desired  to  marry 
her,  and  io  whose  suit  she  listened ;  but  when  the  prelimi- 
naries had  been  discussed,  the  gentleman  declared  that  he 
desired  to  marry  in  a  month.  Siie,  however,  said,  "  If  this 
gentleman  is  in  such  a  hurry,  it  will  be  better  for  me  not  to 
go  on  with  the  matter." 

When  we  separate  this  evening,  at  about  a  quarter  be- 
fore twelve,  Madame  Vibert-Fontaine  has  no  one  to  wait 
upon  her  home.  She  is  very  pretty,  with  dark  eyes  and 
a  good  deal  of  color,  and  is  showily  dressed.  She  does 
not  seem  troubled  at  going  alone,  but  says  that  her  home 
is  close  by.  I  tell  them  of  a  gentleman  from  New  York 
who  had  told  me  that  there  is  no  danger  for  a  woman  of  a 
certain  age  in  going  alone  to  Paris,  but  that  the  case  is  dif- 
ferent with  Madame  Vibert-Fontaine.  Mr.  Carpentier  in- 
quires how  it  would  have  been  with  me  when  I  was  young. 
I  reply  that  some  one  upon  the  street  might  have  asked  to 
wait  upon  me  home.  "  And  what  would  you  have  done?" 
"  I  should  have  been  frightened."     "  When  I  was  twenty- 


98  FRENCH  AND  BELGIANS. 

two,"  said  Mr.  Carjientier,  "  I  saw  a  lady  in  the  omnibus, — 
a  young  lady  almost  as  pretty  as  madame  here.  The  pave- 
ment was  slipj)ery,  and  I  asked  if  I  might  escort  her  to 
her  house.  She  did  not  refuse ;  and  when  we  got  there 
she  invited  me  to  walk  in,  saying  that  her  husband  would 
like  to  make  my  acquaintance." 

During  my  stay  in  Paris  I  was  not  unfrequently  out  in 
the  evening.  Three  persons  at  diiferent  times  escorted  me 
liome, — one  was  the  young  Swiss  before  mentioned,  one  a 
German  gentleman  long  resident  in  America,  and  one  a 
young  countryman  of  my  own.  Once  I  say  to  Victor  and 
madame  that  Mr.  G.,  the  young  Swiss,  has  been  more 
polite  in  waiting  upon  me  home  in  the  evening  than  any 
one  else.  One  or  both  reply  that  if  gentlemen  wait  upon 
ladies  home  here  it  causes  remark;  and  if  a  young  gentle- 
man is  seen  walking  with  a  young  lady,  Paris  is  going  to 
be  destroyed.  But  Victor  adds  that  it  is  not  so  in  Switzer- 
land, for  there  young  people  can  walk  out  together. 


chaptp:r  vil 

May  Idfh,  Sunday. — Madame  I^eblanc  and  I,  looking 
out  into  the  court-yard,  see  a  man-servant  shake  a  mat  out 
of  the  fifth  story  of  the  large  house  which  fronts  upon  the 
street  and  has  its  back  windows  on  this  cour.  I  ask  her 
whether  these  servants  are  not  often  idle.  "Oh,  yes,"  she 
sjiys,  "  they  loaf  alx)Ut, — ih  flanent.  It  is  not  so  with  the 
poor  workmen,  who  arc  obliged  to  work  all  the  time  for 
fear  of  not  earning  their  living;  while  these  people  are 
lodgctl  and  fed,  and  have  their  clothes  washed  while  idling." 


PARIS.  99 

(But  of  the  workingmen  I  shall  speak  hereafter.)  Near 
us  is  a  great  school,  under  charge  of  one  of  the  religious 
orders,  and  about  ten  o'clock  tin's  morning  tlie  boys  are 
making  great  noise  at  their  play.  The  bell  rings,  and 
they  are  silent,  but  they  begin  again  about  half-past  twelve. 
A  black-frocked  and  black-capped  ecclesiastic  walks  forth. 
I  suppose  that  he  is  on  guard  while  they  play  in  the  pleas- 
ant garden. 

At  the  concierge's  window  sits  a  young  woman  this 
morning  with  her  sewing ;  the  concierge  polishes  the  brass 
handle  of  the  hydrant  or  fountain,  and  that  of  the  door 
within  which  the  harness  is  kept.  A  young  gentleman 
lias  come  back  from  riding,  and  a  groom  in  wooden  shoes 
clatters  around  the  stone  pavement  and  brushes  down  the 
horse;  then  he  takes  water  and  a  brush  and  washes  the 
horse's  ankles  and  hoofs,  then  brings  more  water  and  a 
cloth  to  rinse  the  horse's  legs,  and  at  length  takes  him 
into  the  stable.  I  wonder  if  he  himself  is  as  well  cleaned 
as  the  brute?  A  person  who  lives  in  the  same  house  as  we 
comes  into  the  court-yard,  carelessly  carrying  a  hat  wrapped 
in  blue  paper,  as  if  a  little  ashamed  of  it.  I  listen  this 
morning  to  Madame  Leblanc,  who  tells  me  what  she  thinks 
of  the  women-servants,  the  bonnes  who  accompany  young 
ladies  in  their  daily  walks.  "  It  is  a  real  punishment," 
she  says,  "to  have  those  bonnes  behind  one, — a  real  punish- 
ment! That  looks  as  if  parents  had  not  confidence  in  their 
children."  She  adds  that  it  is  the  custom  here  for  young 
ladies  to  be  accompanied  by  their  mother  or  by  a  bonne 
when  walking  out  in  the  day.  It  is  only  poverty  that  pre- 
vents this  attendance ;  but  she  adds  that  the  poor  are  not 
likely  to  be  insulted  upon  that  account.  She  says  that  it  is 
a  false  idea  that  these  servants  protect  you. 

I  am  so  kind  as  to  endeavor  to  explain  to  her  our  Penn- 


100  FRENCH  AND  BELGIANS. 

sylvania  laws  on  marriage  and  divorce,  and  how  no  cere- 
mony of  marriage  is  necessary  to  |>erniit  the  children  to 
iniierit,  if  the  parents  have  acknowledged  a  contract;  also 
how  divorce  may  be  obtained  by  the  one  party  when  the 
other  has  absented  himself  or  herself  for  two  years.  I 
probably  succeed  in  making  her  feel  that  we  are  loose 
people. 

In  the  afternoon  I  go  to  St.  Augustine's  church.  How 
funny  seems  the  inscription  (somewlmt  rough)  upon  the 
outside,  "  Liberte,  £galit6,  Fraternity"  !  This  large  church 
was  built  by  Louis  Napoleon,  and  here  masses  are  said  for 
the  repose  of  his  soul;  but  he  never  saw  this  inscription 
upon  the  outside :  it  was  added  after  he  left !  I  see  a  crowd 
at  a  side-door,  and,  inquiring  what  it  is,  I  am  told  that  they 
are  coming  out  from  the  catechism,  the  retreat  for  chil- 
dren. At  home  we  might  say  coming  out  of  Sunday- 
school,  but  then  they  are  catechised  on  other  days,  as  I  have 
lately  stated.  I  enter  the  basement-room,  called  Chapel  of 
the  Cat6chisme, — a  great  room  with  an  immense  number  of 
benches  and  chairs.  I  suppose  that  the  boys  and  girls  are 
catechise<l  together,  if  not  allowed  to  attend  public  school 
in  common.  The  great  room  now  is  nearly  emptied.  It 
has  not  much  ornament.  Wiiile  I  am  in  there  enters  a 
young  man,  of  nice  appearance,  and  kneels  for  a  few  mo- 
ments. I  enter  the  church  above  and  find  a  notice,  of  which 
I  copy  a  part :  "  Parish  St.  Augustine,  Month  of  Mary. 
The  faithful  are  invited  to  contribute  offerings  of  shrubs, 
flowers,  candles,  or  money  for  the  solemnity  of  the  exercises 
of  the  month  consecrated  to  the  Queen  of  Heaven."  It 
is  between  five  and  six  in  the  afternoon,  and  tiiere  is  not 
much  disj)hiy,  but  several  persons  are  scattered  around  at 
their  devotions.  Beginning  at  the  right,  I  count  the  con- 
fessional boxes ;  each  has  the  name  of  an  ecclesiastic,  with 


PARIS.  101 

his  hours  for  confessions.  The  seventh  says,  "Mr.  the 
abb6  Escalle  confesses  all  day  on  Wednesday :  On  Satur- 
day, and  the  eve  of  festivals,  from  four  to  six  in  the  evening. 
Every  day  from  seven  to  nine  in  the  morning.  Confesses 
also  in  English  or  in  Italian."  There  are  twelve  confes- 
sionals altogether.  People  are  coming  and  going.  The 
devout  are  not  all  women  :  two  young  men  come  in  ;  after- 
wards a  gentleman  and  lady  and  children ;  a  rather  nice- 
looking,  elderly  ecclesiastic,  in  robe  and  big  shoes  and 
spectacles,  goes  about,  after  dipping  in  holy  water  and 
bending  a  knee  to  the  altar.  He  is  corpulent,  and  he  looks 
like  a  rural  ecclesiastic;  doubtless  many  are  in  Paris  now. 
I  infer  that  you  may  always  know  Catholics  by  their  dip- 
ping in  holy  water.  One  lady  dips  the  tip  of  one  or  two 
gloved  fingers,  and  then  holds  them  to  the  young  lady  with 
her,  who  touches  one  and  begins  to  make  the  sign  of  the 
cross.  She  looks  at  my  note-book.  While  going  around 
and  counting  the  confessionals,  1  do  not  observe  a  statement 
that  any  priest  confesses  on  Sunday ;  but  in  one  of  the 
railed  divisions — called,  I  believe,  chapels — two  women 
are  sitting.  The  confessional  in  the  centre  is  a  sort 
of  closet,  with  a  little  glass  door  or  window  in  front, 
shaded  by  a  muslin  curtain.  In  this  part  sits  the  priest, 
and  on  each  side  is  a  recess,  in  which  one  person  can  kneel, 
a  curtain  hanging  to  conceal  the  person.      I  walk  up  to 

the  box  to  read  the  inscription,  which  states  that  Mr. 

will  confess  at  certain  times,  one  being  Sunday  after  ves- 
pers. And  while  I  am  reading  I  hear  light  whispering, 
and  suddenly  become  aware  that  some  one  is  within  confes- 
sing, and  that  probably  the  priest  has  seen  me  through  the 
muslin  curtain.  I  am  shocked  at  having  come  so  near  the 
confessional,  and  am  sorry  to  have  shocked  them,  as  I  may 
have  done.     When  at  home  I  ask  Victor  what  I  should 


102  FRENCH  AND  BELGIANS. 

say  if  I  went  to  confession.  He  answers,  "  My  father,  I 
accuse  myself  of "     I  see  no  men  confessing  at  Paris. 

There  is  at  St.  Augustine's  churcli  quite  a  fine  picture 
of  the  saint  at  his  mother's  death-bed.  From  the  features 
we  might  suppose  it  to  be  Napoleon  Bonaparte  at  the  death 
of  Madame  I^titia,  but  the  dead  person  has  a  glory  around 
the  head,  which  does  not  belong  to  the  former  Madame 
Bonaparte.  There  is  another  painting  which  does  not  please 
me  near  so  well,  and  which  I  suppose  to  be  the  baptism 
of  Augustine;  but  in  this  he  does  not  wear  the  Bonaparte 
features,  which  seems  a  contradiction. 

Not  long  after  entering  the  church,  I  see  an  old  woman 
near  the  altar  with  some  forlorn  little  spindling  candles, 
partly  hollow,  stuck  upon  points  in  a  tray,  one  or  two 
being  lighted, — cheap  things,  I  infer,  wiiich  the  faithful  go 
and  buy.  After  awhile  she  has  more  candles  lighted,  and 
they  are  of  different  lengths;  the  old  woman  is  kneeling 
by  with  a  prayer-book.  Is  it  a  trade?  After  awhile  six 
of  her  candles  are  burning.  She  kneels  partly  facing  the 
people,  with  her  book  closed  in  her  hands;  she  moves  her 
lips;  she  wears  gliusses;  she  looks  at  me.  Is  she  ready  to 
sell  candies?     Poor  woman  ! 


At  dinner  this  evening  we  have  onion  soup,  made  of  as- 
paragus-water witii  bread  cut  up  in  it,  which  is  pretty 
good ;  then  three  chops  with  bread  and  wine.  Next  we 
are  to  have  the  asparagus,  and  I  signify  to  raadame  that  I 
would  be  willing  to  eat  it  while  it  is  warm.  "Oh,  no," 
she  answers;  "  when  asparagus  is  eaten  with  oil  and  vinegar, 
we  do  not  cat  it  warm !" 

Victor  was  away  nearly  all  day.  He  was  helping  one 
of  his  friends  to  move. 


PARIS.  103 

Monday,  May  20th. — Our  apartments  have  water  in  the 
kitchen  and  in  the  water-closet.  To-day  it  is  not  running; 
they  think  that  the  pipes  are  being  repaired.  There  is  a 
fountain  or  hydrant  down  in  the  court-yard,  and  I  had 
before  proposed  to  go  and  get  water ;  but  I  am  told  that  if 
it  is  not  running  this  morning  they  will  hire  the  charcoal- 
man  to  bring  some.  Speaking  of  not  having  water  in  the 
pipe,  I  say,  "We  must  submit."  "  Oh,  yes,"  says  Victor, 
"we  must  submit  like  the  marshal."  "What  marshal?" 
I  ask.  "Mash — mah — own."  "Do  the  French  i)ro- 
nounce  it  like  that?"  "Oh,  yes."  He  alludes  doubtless 
to  the  celebrated  saying  of  Gambetta,  that  MacMahon  must 
either  submit  or  demit, — i.e.,  resign.* 


While  I  am  at  the  modiste's  there  enter  two  men,  one 
in  a  showy  uniform  of  dark-blue  embroidered  with  silver 
(or  its  imitation),  but  the  other  is  in  plain  clothes.  The 
man  in  uniform  says  something,  and  the  woman  in  the 
store  afterwards  tells  me  that  he  came  to  see  about  the  gas. 
The  man  in  plain  clothes  is  of  higher  grade,  and  came 
because  the  affair  is  important. 


To-day  I  visit  a  Protestant  public  school.  It  is  in  a 
good  stone  building,  with  a  dingy  tricolor  floating  from 
the  front.  In  the  same  building  is  a  Protestant  church. 
This  school  is  not  upon  the  list  of  those  which  I  have  re- 
ceived permission  to  visit,  but  it  has  been  mentioned  to  me 
by  another  teacher.  Although  I  have  no  card  of  introduc- 
tion, the  teacher  receives  me  pleasantly ;  perhaps  she  infers 
by  my  accent  that  I  am  English,  and  consequently  Prot- 

*  The  above  is  not  the  usual  pronunciation. 


104  FRENCH  AND  BELGIANS. 

estant.  She  tells  me  that  there  are  about  twelve  Protestant 
schools  in  Paris,  and  that  hers  is  the  smallest  in  the  city, 
having  less  than  fifty  names  on  the  list  (ol)serve  that  the 
scholars  cannot  be  graded  as  in  the  larger  schools). 

One  little  girl  is  crying;  she  has  a  paper  pinned  upon 
her  head,  on  which  is  written,  "  Disobedient  and  lying." 
I  mention  to  the  teacher  that  when  quite  young  I  taught 
in  a  public  school ;  and  she  replies,  "  They  have  the  good 
habit  in  America  of  only  teaching  while  they  are  young. 
I  l>elieve  that  the  children  like  young  teachers  best,  and 
that  they  teach  with  more  zeal  and  enthusiasm."  She  tells 
me  that  under  Mr.  Gr6ard,  who  is  director-general  of 
primary  education  here,  there  are  about  a  dozen  inspec- 
tors paid  by  the  city,  who  inspect  the  schools  and  the 
certificates  of  the  pupils'  studies,  and  examine  candidates 
for  teaching.  (Strictly  speaking,  I  presume  that  these  are 
paid  by  the  department  of  the  Seine,  in  which  Paris  is 
situated.)  In  the  month  of  August  all  children  in  the  firet 
or  highest  classes,  whom  the  head-teachers  deem  fit,  are 
examined  by  these  inspectors.  If  they  pass  the  examination 
they  receive  a  diploma  or  certificate;  then,  if  they  choose 
to  remain  and  be  fitted  to  enter  a  normal  school,  they  may 
do  so;  but  to  enter  these  schools  they  must  pass  a  much 
higher  examination.  There  is  only  one  public  normal 
school  for  girls  in  the  city. 

In  order  that  I  may  see  one  of  the  certificates  granted  to 
pu|)ils  in  this  school,  one  of  the  little  girls  goes  home  and 
brings  her  "certificate  of  primary  studies,"  which  the 
mayoralty  of  the  ward  has  had  framed  for  her,  the  ward 
Ixiing  rich,  as  I  anj  told.  (There  are  twenty  wards,  or 
arrorulissementa,  in  Paris,  and  each  has  a  mayor  and  coun- 
cil. If  there  are  only  twelve  Protestant  schools,  there  is 
not  one  for  each  ward.     For  the  whole  city  there  is  a 


PARIS.  105 

municipal  council,  whose  president  is  the  prefect  of  the 
department  of  the  Seine.) 

I  ask  two  little  girls,  one  after  the  other.  What  is  the 
largest  city  in  the  world  ?  Both  answer,  as  is  very  natural, 
Paris.  But  the  little  one  who  has  the  certificate  says  Lon- 
don. Two  or  three  of  the  girls  tell  me  that  New  York  is 
in  England.  The  teacher  says  that  she  uses  no  book  for 
arithmetic;  so  I  presume  she  teaches  from  the  blackboard. 
I  do  not  find  that  they  have  what  we  call  mental  arithmetic, 
nor  that  they  are  quick  at  mental  computation.  The  teacher 
says  that  they  act  here  under  difficulties.  She  has  not  even 
an  assistant,  but  only  a  pupil-mistress.  This  is  a  Reformed 
school.  Many  of  the  scholars  are  of  Swiss  origin ;  but 
there  are  some  Catholic  pupils  in  the  school.  The  course 
of  instruction  is  the  same  as  in  all  the  grammar  schools. 
It  is  required  that  the  first  hour  of  the  day  shall  be  given 
to  religious  exercises.  Instead  of  the  sacred  history  of  the 
Catholic  schools,  they  have  a  little  book  of  stories, — recits, 
— from  the  Old  Testament,  and  another  from  the  New. 

Miss ,  the  teacher,  says  that  they  have  a  short  prayer, 

not  formal,  at  the  opening  and  close  of  each  session.  On 
closing  in  the  afternoon,  they  have  the  Lord's  Prayer  and 
the  Apostles'  Creed. 

After  I  leave  this  school  I  pass  St.  Augustine's  church ; 
and,  behold,  what  a  quantity  of  people  are  coming  out  of 
the  basement !  I  hear  that  the  boys  and  girls  are  catechised 
together  at  nine  in  the  morning  and  three  in  the  afternoon. 
I  must  see  it  to-morrow. 


Tuesday,  May  2\8t. — Madame  Leblanc  is  mending  her 
husband's  clothing.  She  says  that  the  gentlemen  don't 
know  how.  "  Except  some,"  I  say.  She  answers,  with 
animation,  "Those  are  the  old  soldiers:  they  know  how  to 


106  FRENCH  AND  BELGIANS. 

sew  on  buttons,  and  to  mend  pantaloons  and  waistcoats ; 
they  are  insuj>portable  in  a  house ;  they  are  crazy ;  they 
will  have  everything  in  a  particular  place." 

"  It  seems  to  me,"  I  say,  "  that  your  husband  has  order." 
"  Oh,  yes ;  but  he  is  not  crazy  about  it.  One  may  have 
order  without  being  insupportable." 

When  I  go  out  I  see  a  man  who  carries  upon  his  back  a 
neatly-arranged  load  of  brushes  to  sell.  He  wears  extremely 
clean  cotton  clothes,  with  about  twenty  patches  of  different 
shades  of  blue  upon  his  failed  blouse.  Shall  not  we  Paris- 
ians be  whole  and  clean  when  we  have  invited  all  the 
world  ? 

I  get  to  St.  Augustine's  about  half-past  nine.  In  the 
entrance  of  the  basement  a  priest  and  nun  are  talking.  I 
have  asked  Mrs.  Leblanc  whether  I  can  go  into  the  cate- 
chising. "Why  not?"  she  asks;  "the  churches  are  pub- 
lic." "Not  like  the  communal  schools,"  I  rejoin;  and, 
behold,  M'hen  I  enter  the  basement-room  there  are  boys  and 
girls  in  the  same  class ;  and  do  I  not  see  on  one  side  of  the 
great  room  two  young  priests  seated  in  the  midst  of  women, 
in  Sj)ite  of  the  smiles  that  adorn  the  faces  of  some  French- 
men when  co-education  of  the  sexes  is  mentioned?  A  great 
quantity  of  children  are  collected  in  this  basement-room ; 
but  they  are  not  necessarily  much  dressed.  I  see  one  little 
girl  in  a  check  apron.  They  are  singing  in  the  fashion  of  a 
Protestant  Sunday-school,  while  the  ecclesiastics  pass  round 
in  white  short  gowns  and  black  petticoats,  if  so  I  may  call 
their  rt)bes.  Upon  a  back  seat  I  find  a  place,  where  I  sit 
with  my  note-book.  No  one  gives  me  a  hymn-l)Ook  or 
catechism  until  I  ask  a  little  girl  for  one;  doubtless  they 
judge  me  to  be  not  of  their  religion.  A  nun  comes  and 
kneels  at  my  back,  and  remains  here.  Does  she  wish  to 
prevent  my  having  any  conversation  with  the  children  ? 


PARIS.  107 

She  is  kneeling  at  ray  right  shoulder;  hut  probably  she 
cannot  read  my  English  notes,  even  if  she  sees  them. 
There  are  many  grown  women  present,  and  some  grown 
men.  Mass  is  offered.  In  the  exercises  the  bell  is  used, 
and  also  the  clapper,  before  described.  One  of  the  hymns 
is  addressed  to  a  sinner,  and  asks  why  he  will  plunge  into 
crime  to  satisfy  the  desires  of  a  perverse  heart.  Soon 
death  will  come  to  strike  its  victim,  and  what  then  will 
become  of  all  his  pleasures?  They  sing  two  verses  of  this 
to  a  popular  or  animated  tune.  While  they  are  singing 
my  nun  gets  up,  and  goes,  with  agility,  to  place  herself 
among  the  people  at  the  side  of  the  room.  The  organ  plays 
to  accompany  the  singers,  and  one  might  think  himself  in 
an  immense  and  very  orderly  Sunday-school ;  but  there 
are  no  divisions  of  classes  and  teachers.  There  is  prayer 
in  French,  I  think  from  the  book,  and  an  address  or  ser- 
mon. The  ecclesiastic  stands  at  one  corner;  he  speaks 
with  great  distinctness;  he  seems  to  be  a  flowery  rather 
than  a  plain  man ;  he  gesticulates  in  his  flowing  sleeves ; 
he  delivers  a  long  sermon, — long  for  the  occasion.  I  note 
down  a  few  sentences,  and  now  try  to  connect  them  :  "It 
is  God  who  gave  you  all  you  are  and  all  you  have,  who 
consented  to  be  born  upon  the  earth,  and  to  die  upon  the 
cross.  What  prevents  you  from  complying  with  the  invi- 
tation to  the  communion?  You  are  not  willing  to  go  to 
your  confessor,  and  you  are  crucifying  Christ  again  in  the 
soul  of  a  child.  To  whomsoever  partakes,  the  flesh  of 
Jesus  Christ  is  joined  to  his  flesh.  His  blood  flows  in  his 
veins,  and  what  child  will  insult  his  Saviour  by  refusing? 
What  frightful  punishments  are  prepared  for  the  disobe- 
dient !  Look  at  Judas,  whose  soul  went  to  the  depths  of 
hell !  One  cannot  sport  with  God  with  impunity.  It  was 
said  to  Lothaire,  If  you  are  innocent  of  the  crime  imputed 


108  FRENCH  AND  BELGIANS. 

to  you,  partake  of  the  coiuiminion.  He  and  his  lords  par- 
take of  it.  He  goes  triumphant  to  his  estates.  But  behold, 
he  is  attacked  by  a  fever."  .  .  . 

The  speaker  talks  about  crimes  and  misfortunes;  about 
the  holy  fii'st  communion  ;  about  the  day  of  judgment  and 
of  vengeance, — celestial  vengeance  no  longer  deferred.  "It 
is  the  word  of  God ;  whosoever  receives  unworthily  the  body 
of  the  Lord  eats  to  his  own  condemnation :  then  beware  of 
hardening  of  heart;  seek  your  confessor;  he  will  not  refuse 
you.  Oh,  no,  my  cliildren,  no!  He  will  be  softened  by 
your  tears,  and  you  will  make  very  well  your  first  commu- 
nion. Divine  Saviour  Jesus!  if  we  succeed,  all  is  owing 
to  you.  Lord  !  You  will  touch  these  young  hearts,  and  the 
day  of  the  first  communion  will  be  a  heavenly  day." 

I  do  not  observe  that  any  shed  tears  during  this  address. 
The  last  hymn  begins,  "  Everything  confounds  me  in  this 
pious  retreat,  and  every  object  awakens  my  grief.  Never, 
O  Lord !  can  a  sinner  have  peace  until  you  possess  the 
empire  of  his  heart."  While  this  is  sung  the  children  are 
passing  out,  and  it  is  about  a  quarter  before  eleven  when 
we  get  out  of  the  great  basement-room  into  the  open  air 
again.  Afterwards,  I  am  told  that  the  hymns  sung  indi- 
cate this  to  l)e  a  day  of  penitence.  I  have  an  opportunity 
to  inspect  the  book  used  by  the  children.  It  is  a  manual 
of  catechisms,  or  collection  of  prayers,  notes,  hymns,  etc., 
by  the  Abb6  Diipanloup,  published  with  the  approval  of 
Monseigneur  the  Archbishop  of  Paris.  This  edition  is 
augmented  by  a  form  of  conducting  confession  and  com- 
munion, after  F6nelon. 

The  bishop  of  Nancy,  Monseigneur  Forbin-Janson,  has  a 
liymn  therein  which  Kobert  LigersoU  nuiy  read;  but  a  part 
will  suffice  here:  "Alas!  what  grief  fills  my  heart  and 
makes  my  tears  to  flow  !     Great  God  !  what  a  fearful  day 


PARIS.  109 

shines  in  my  eyes !  what  a  horrible  abyss!  Great  God! 
what  a  friglitful  day  shines  in  my  eyes !  what  sad  fires ! 
Yes,  hell,  to  avenge  my  crime,  is  open,  and  awaits  its  victim. 
Great  God !  what  a  future,  weeping  and  groaning,  and 
always  hating  thee." 

In  the  afternoon  I  am  again  near  the  same  great  church. 
I  have  asked  whether  I  shall  not  finish  by  liking  St. 
Augustine's.  Like  many,  if  not  all,  of  the  fine  buildings 
of  Paris,  it  has  an  open  place;  it  is  not  crowded  so  that  one 
cannot  see  it.  This  afternoon,  in  the  open  sjiace  before 
the  church,  the  funny  low  fountain,  with  its  many  jets,  is 
playing.  Church  and  state  are  close  together;  there  is  the 
great  stone  barrack, — the  altar  and  the  sword.  See  the 
funny  little  soldiers,  who  do  not  stand  up  straight,  who 
wear  short,  wide  red  trousers  and  big  red  epaulets.  Are 
not  many  of  tliem  clumsy  from  having  worn  wooden  shoes? 

Near  by  is  an  omnibus  office.  What  lovely  omnibas 
horses !  it  is  an  enjoyment  to  look  at  them. 


Hereby  Mr.  Gr^ard  is  forever  acquitted  of  having  allowed 
me  to  visit  a  boys'  school.  Yes,  the  card  of  intnxluction 
which  I  ctuTy  this  afternoon  to  the  principal  of  the  school, 
33  Rue  Tournefort,  was  given  to  me  by  a  private  person, 
whom  I  met  in  a  private  house.  While  I  am  now  pre- 
paring this  volume,  France  has  a  republican  senate.  Let  us 
then  confidently  trust  that  no  harm  will  befall  the  principal 
for  admitting  me.  On  the  way  to  the  school  I  see  some 
little  children  at  play  in  a  shady  yard,  boys  and  girls  to- 
gether. On  a  bench  a  woman  is  sitting,  i)robably  a  teacher, 
and  she  invites  me  to  visit  this  school,  which  is  a  Protestant 
infant-school.     It  is  the  evangelical  (Euvre  de  St.  Marcel, 

6 


110  FRENCH  AND  BELGIANS. 

not  a  government  establishment,  but  supported  by  private 
contributions. 

Going  a  short  distance  fartlier,  I  arrive  at  the  manual- 
labor  school,  and  find  the  principal  in  the  shop.  This 
school  is  a  large  one,  and  to  it  is  attached  a  workshop  for 
motlelling,  mouhling,  sculpture,  cabinet-work,  turning, 
blacksmithing,  and  tool-making.  Doubtless  the  ])rincipal 
is  a  man  of  varied  talents.  Out  of  three  hundred  and 
seventy  pupils,  only  forty-five,  however,  are  at  manual 
labor.  I  see  at  work  intelligent-looking  boys,  from  eleven 
to  fourteen  years  old.  Leaving  the  workshop  and  going 
through  the  yard,  Mr.  L.  shows  me  the  Sunday  games. 
Every  Sunday  morning  he  accompanies  the  boys  to  mass 
from  nine  to  ten,  only  about  half  of  them  coming  for  this 
purpose.  He  must  always  accompany  them  to  church,  and 
then  he  conducts  them  to  the  school,  and  as  a  recom|)ense  al- 
lows them  to  play  until  breakfast-time  at  croquet,  ninepins, 
and  other  active  games,  the  materials  for  which  are  here 
})rovided.  (Imagine  the  noise,  as  at  the  school  lately  men- 
tioned.) Mr.  L.  takes  me  into  different  parts  of  the  school, 
and  also  into  a  decent  kitchen  with  a  range,  where  a  woman 
is  in  charge.  Here,  for  two  sous,  the  scholar  c^n  get  some- 
thing for  breakfast.  To-day  it  Jias  been  beans,  cooked  with 
pork ;  two  days  it  is  a  ragout ;  and  on  Friday,  potatoes 
cooked  with  milk,  the  boys  bringing  their  own  bread. 
About  eighty  out  of  the  three  hundred  and  seventy  buy 
food  here.  I  ask  Mr.  L.  who  the  persons  are  that  send 
children  to  the  public  schools.  He  says  that  the  rich  send 
to  private  schot)ls,  colleges,  and  lyc6€8,  but  that  grocers, 
bakers,  workingmen,  etc.,  send  to  communal  or  public 
schools.  I  venture  to  inquire  of  Mr.  L.  concerning  a  vio- 
let ribbon  which  he  wears  in  the  buttonhole  of  his  coat, 
and  learn  that  he  is  officer  of  academy, — a  grade  of  honor. 


PARIS.  Ill 

There  is  a  higher  grade, — officers  of  public  instruction,  who 
wear  the  rosette;  and  women  may  obtain  both.  Madame 
Pape-Carpentier,  before  mentioned,  author  of  the  gymnastic 
games  for  children,  belongs  to  tiie  former  grade.  This 
violet  ribbon,  however,  is  not  the  only  honor  to  which  Mr. 
L.,  of  the  manual-labor  school,  has  attained.  He  has  re- 
ceived twenty  medals  in  silver,  bronze,  and  so  forth.  I 
understand  that  there  are  seven  grades  through  which 
teachers  may  pass,  namely :  especial  mention,  honorable 
mention,  bronze  medal,  silver  medal,  academic  badge  (the 
ribbon),  public  instruction  badge  (the  rosette),  and  the  cross 
of  the  Legion  of  Honor.  With  this  violet  ribbon  are  con- 
nected  silver  palms,  to  wear  on  great  occasions,  and,  to  the 
higher  grades,  gilded  palms.  I  say  to  Mr.  L.  that  I  should 
like  to  remain  until  school  closes.  However,  it  does  not 
finish  at  four,  like  most  of  the  communal  schools.  At  four 
they  have  gymnastics,  and  school  closes  at  half-past  six. 
This  large  establishment  of  three  hundred  and  seventy 
pupils  is  divided  into  six  clas.ses  and  has  fifteen  professors. 


I  call  to-day  to  see  a  lady  living  in  the  same  quarter  of 
Paris,  an  American  woman  whom  I  have  met  at  the  bank- 
er's. I  pass  through  Rue  St.  M6ilard,  and  find  scarcely  an 
elevated  sidewalk,  but  the  gutters  running  at  a  few  feet 
distance  from  the  houses.  AVhat  funny  names  some  of  the 
Paris  streets  have  !  One  of  my  acquaintances  lives  in  Hell 
Street, — Rue  d'Enfer.  Victor  says  that  there  are  Paradise 
Street  and  Heaven  Street,  and  that  all  that  is  wanting  is 
Purgatory  Street.  Tliis  afternoon  I  find  Street  of  the 
Hermit's  Well,  and  here  is  another  barrack  and  more  sol- 
diers. My  friend  boards  on  the  Place  Monge.  The  house 
has  a  garden,  that  rarity  in  Paris;  it  is  not  very  large,  to 


112  •  FRENCH  AND  BELGIANS. 

be  sure,  but  it  is  planted  and  you  can  sit  in  it.  She  has 
succeeded  in  obtaining  very  low  board,  paying  here  one 
hundred  francs  (twenty  dollars)  a  month ;  she  tells  me,  too, 
of  other  moderate  j)laces  in  a  very  fashionable  quarter. 
She  has  been  for  a  considerable  time  in  Europe,  and  she  is 
now  attending  lectures  in  Paris.  She  speaks  of  very  fine 
lectures  at  the  College  of  France,  and  there  are  also  free 
lectures  at  the  Garden  of  Plants. 


CHAPTER    VIII. 

Wednesday,  May  22d. — As  I  wish  to  hear  tiie  earlier 
part  of  the  catechism,  I  go  this  morning  to  the  Madeleine 
church;  but  I  hear  that  the  catechism  is  at  the  Assumption, 
and  when  I  arrive  there  I  am  told  that  it  has  been  finished 
for  some  time;  so  I  suppose  that  the  first  communion  at 
the  Madeleine  has  already  taken  place.  This  small  church 
of  the  Assumption  is  furnished  with  benches;  a  lady  tells 
me  that  it  is  a  chapel  belonging  to  the  Madeleine,  where 
the  catechism  is  held. 

To-<lay  I  visit  the  Garden  of  Plants.  Just  outside  of 
one  of  the  entrances  is  a  large  old  hospital ;  on  its  front 
is,  "Hospital  of  our  Lady  of  Pity.  Founde<l  in  1613. 
Liberty,  Equality,  Fraternity,"  and  the  tri-color  swaying 
softly  in  the  afternoon  air.  I  enter  the  archway,  but  am 
not  allowed  to  visit  the  hospital,  being  told  that  all  the 
hospitals  of  Paris  are  open  to  the  public  on  Thursday  and 
Saturday,  from  one  to  three.  One-fourth  of  the  popula- 
tion of  Paris  die  in  hospitals,  alms-houses,  and  prisons.  I 
meet  here  a  French  gentleman  with  whom  I  was  acquainted 


PARIS.  113 

in  Philadelphia.     Speaking  to  me  of  our  hard  times,  he 
adds,  "  You  have  no  hospitals  in  America." 


I  enter  the  Garden  of  Plants,  that  celebrated  resort,  in 
the  morning  of  this  day,  and  see  something  of  its  walks, 
its  trees,  and  grass.  In  going  about,  I  meet  a  soldier  with 
the  cross  of  the  Legion  of  Honor ;  probably  he  is  one  of  the 
guards.  He  says  that  he  is  retired,  having  served  twenty- 
five  years,  and  is  fifty-one.  But  he  has  beautiful  teeth. 
He  tells  me  that  he  was  in  the  Crimean  and  Chinese  wars, 
and  has  been  in  Algiers  also.  I  speak  of  our  not  loving 
to  spend  much  money  upon  armies,  but  on  our  public 
schools ;  and  he  replies  that  we  spend  four  hundred  millions 
of  francs  upon  our  public  schools,  and  they  spend  fifty-five 
millions  only.  He  adds  that  the  French  public-school  sys- 
tem really  went  into  operation  under  Guizot,  as  minister,  in 
1833.  I  leave  the  garden  to  obtain  lunch,  and  find  a  little 
creamery  near  by  upon  the  Rue  Linn6,  named  for  Linnaeus. 
The  creamery  is  paved  with  six-sided  tiles.  It  is  kept  by 
a  woman,  and  here  I  can  get  chocolate,  with  milk.  The 
woman  tells  me  that  her  husband  works  upon  a  railroad, 
and  that  she  keeps  this  place  and  has  a  small  custom  ;  she 
has  two  children,  a  son  of  thirteen  and  a  daughter  of  five, 
boarding  with  her  parents,  who  are  alone  in  the  Vosges. 
After  a  simple  lunch  I  return  to  the  garden,  where,  besides 
my  soldier  just  mentioned,  I  had  observed  an  old  man 
and  woman  seated  on  a  bench,  she  having  two  fine  children 
in  charge.  He  has  a  basket  with  bits  of  paper  in  it,  and 
a  stick  with  a  nail  in  the  end;  he  talks  so  fast  and  has 
such  poor  teeth  that  I  cannot  understand  him.  Doubtless 
he  is  a  rag-picker  by  profession,  but  how  decent  he  looks 
compared  with  the  same  class  in  my  native  city  1     Among 


114  FRENCH  AND  BELGIANS. 

the  many  trees  I  see  one  marked  "  Common  Yew,"  and 
break  a  bit.  Afterwards  I  sit  upon  a  bench  with  a  woman 
of  about  forty,  in  a  cap,  without  a  bonnet,  a  bh\ck  and  blue 
plaid  dress,  a  sack  trimmed  with  fur,  a  silk  umbrella,  no 
gloves,  cheeks  painte<l,  and  handkerchief  perfumed.  Is 
she  waiting  to  see  my  fine  soldier  of  fifty-one  with  the 
handsome  teeth  ?  She  says  that  she  is  waiting  to  go  into 
the  hospital  to  see  a  woman  who  has  had  an  operation  per- 
formed on  one  of  her  breasts.  She  sees  my  bit  of  yew, 
and  says  that  there  is  a  strong  prohibition  here  against 
breaking  the  trees:  it  subjects  you  to  an  imprisonment  of 
three  months.  What  if  I  had  been  caught  by  that  sol- 
dier !     I  might  have  been  able  to  see  a  prison  then. 

On  a  magnificent  tree  is  put  up,  "Cedar  of  Ijebanon 
{Cedrus  Libani),  planted  by  Bernard  de  Jussieu,  in  1735." 
Some  one  thinks  that  the  extent  of  the  branches  of  this 
grand  tree  is  about  thirty-six  yards.  Two  soldier-like  men 
pass,  showily  dressed  in  dark-blue  trousers,  white  belts,  red 
epaulets,  and  funny  hats, — a  kind  of  cocked-hat.  They  are 
pompiers,  or  soldiers  employed  to  put* out  fires.  I  walk 
upwards  in  the  garden  to  see  the  extensive  view.  In  my 
walks  I  see  a  woman  at  work  upon  collars.  They  are 
machine-made,  and  she  is  working  beautiful  button-holes, 
five  in  each.  She  tells  me  that  they  are  military  false  col- 
lars, and  that  she  gets  ten  sous  a  dozen  collars,  and  can 
work  three  dozen  a  day.  Thirty  sous!  and  I  just  thought 
myself  very  cheaply  breakfasted  at  twelve  sous  !*  Of  coui*se 
I  look  at  flowers  in  the  garden,  and  see  the  ser|)ent-house 
with  its  great  white  porcelain  stoves,  brass-banded. 

•  By  an  inquiry  made  in  1860,  there  were  in  round  numbers  105,000 
women  in  Paris  conneotod  witli  trades:  14,000  earned  from  \\  to  2 
francs  a  day,  39,000  earned  more,  and  17,000  less. — Appletonn'  Cyclo- 
pedia, "  Taris." 


PARIS.  115 

In  walking  through  the  Rue  Blainville,  a  very  common 
street  in  one  of  tlie  most  ordinary  quarters  of  Paris,  I  find 
it  quite  clean,  and  ask  a  young  mechanic  how  many  times 
the  streets  of  Paris  are  swept  in  a  week.  He  answers, 
"Fourteen  times, — every  morning  and  afternoon."  This 
may  be  something  of  an  exaggeration,  but  when  land  is  as 
dear  with  us  as  it  is  in  France,  and  manure  as  much  de- 
manded, perhaps  our  cities  will  not  in  cleanliness  so  greatly 
contrast  with  Paris,  especially  if  labor  should  be  as  cheap 
as  here.  I  also  pass  through  the  Rue  Moufifetard,  one  of 
the  poorest  in  Paris.  I  stop  to  see  a  woman  who  is  frying 
potatoes  very  nicely.  She  has  a  stove  in  which  she  burns 
coke,  and  she  sells  potatoes  by  the  one  sou's  worth  and  the 
two  sous',  selling  a  good  many  at  breakfast  and  dinner  time. 
She  has  a  little  recess  in  the  house-front,  and  pays  a  rent 
of  ten  sous  a  day.  In  the  Rue  Lacipdde  I  see  a  lady 
leading  two  miserable  little  shave<l  objects  of  dogs,  each  by 
a  twine  string.  About  noon  I  had  gone  from  the  Garden 
of  Plants  to  the  Place  Monge  to  see  my  American  acquain- 
tance, the  lady  who  is  attending  lectures.  I  inquire  the 
way  from  a  man  in  a  working-dress,  and  he  accompanies 
me  for  a  short  distance  to  point  it  out.  He  tells  me  that 
we  are  in  one  of  the  worst  streets  in  Paris,  the  Rue 
Mouffetard  (just  n^entioned),  and  that  we  are  in  the  most 
elevated  and  at  the  same  time  the  lowest  quarter ;  that 
here  the  highest  instruction  is  given,  as  at  the  Garden  of 
Plants,  etc.,  and  here  there  is  the  least.  I  speak  of  our 
republic,  and  he  tells  me  that  we  are  their  model,  and 
have  been  for  a  hundred  years  or  more.  I  speak  of  their 
many  changes,  and  how  some  of  us  had  been  interested  for 
them  in  1848;  and  I  complain  tiiat  they  changed  so  much 
afterwards.  He  speaks  in  severe  terms  of  the  empire  of 
Louis  Napoleon.     I  remark  that  there  does  not  seem  to  be 


116  FRENCH  AND  BELGIANS. 

much  to  fear  from  the  son  of  the  emperor.  I  understand 
him  to  accede;  but  lie  adds,  "He  has  a  great  name."  I 
say,  "Under  thatched  roofs  they  long  shall  talk  of  liis 
glory,— 

'  On  parlera  do  sa  gloire, 
Sur  le  chaume  Lien  longtemps.'  " 

"You  know  some  of  I36ranger's  songs?"  he  says.  I  smile 
and  venture  to  inquire  what  his  occupation  is;  he  is  a 
lithographer. 


At  dinner  in  the  evening  we  have  a  broiled  fresh  mack- 
erel, delightfully  cooked,  and  dressed  with  a  quantity  of 
butter;  and  afterwards  a  potato-sahid ;  or  cold  boiled  pota- 
toes dressed  witii  salt,  pepper,  vinegar,  and  oil ;  then  some 
large  strawberries,  such  as  we  have  not  had  before;  we 
have  had  very  small  wood-strawberries. 

I  tell  Victor  what  I  have  just  heard  about  the  great 
name  of  the  young  Napoleon.  Of  course  he  does  not  like 
it.  He  says  that  the  youth  has  been  called  the  son  with 
long  cars,  because  at  Woolwich  he  was  the  last  in  the  class; 
and  that  he  is  csilled  the  idle  fellow — lesMentaire — because 
he  is  the  son  of  the  man  of  Sedan.  He  breaks  out  with 
the  declaration  that  Napoleon  Bonaparte  was  the  greatest 
scoundrel  that  the  earth  ever  l)ore :  "  He  was  a  drinker  of 
blood  !  As  to  the  glory  of  such  a  man,  I  tramj)le  it  under 
my  feet.  He  violated  his  oath  to  be  faithful  to  the  consti- 
tution, and  made  himself  emperor.  As  to  that  workman 
of  yours,  it  is  very  likely  that  he  cried  out  upon  the  l)oule- 
vards,  in  1870,  *To  Berlin  !'  There  were  only  five  or  six 
thousand  that  cried  out  'To  Berlin  !'  and  as  for  those  who 
cried  out  'Long  live  Peace!'  they  got  blows  upon  the 
head   with   head-breakers — casse-Wes — made  of  lead   and 


PARIS.  117 

covered  with  leather.     Those  who  criecl  '  To  Berlin  !'  were 
police  agents,  dressed  in  white  blouses  like  workingnien." 


Thursday,  May  23c?. — The  little  one  was  born  last  night. 
Victor  proposes  to  go  to  the  mayor's  office  to  register  her 
birth  and  take  out  a  certificate.  These  "acts  of  birth"  are 
of  much  importance  in  France.  This  one  will  cost  him 
three  or  four  francs.  His  and  Madame  Leblanc's  were 
burned  during  the  commune. 

I  was  up  last  night  with  madame  while  her  husband 
went  for  the  doctor;  then,  about  three  in  the  morning,  I 
heard  the  strong  crying  of  the  little  one,  and  rose  and  as- 
sisted at  its  toilet.  They  put  on  a  thick  cap,  to  which  the 
doctor  does  not  object  at  all,  some  clothing  round  the  body, 
and  a  white  sack  over  it,  but  never  a  petticoat.  Instead, 
they  take  a  blanket  or  swaddling  cloth,  wrap  the  little 
body  well,  and  double  the  blanket  up  behind  to  protect  its 
feet,  which  have  on  no  socks.  I  had  appointments  for 
to-day  at  the  Exposition,  but  I  send  notes  to  my  acquain- 
tances and  remain  while  Victor  goes  out  on  business.  They 
expected  a  woman  to  help  them,  but  I  hear  that  her  hus- 
band had  to  go  to  the  country,  and  that  she  will  not  come 
until  Saturday.  I  run  out  on  an  errand  to  the  baker's, 
and  when  Victor  comes,  behold,  he  has  given  up  his  busi- 
ness for  two  days. 

Friday,  May  24<A. — Last  evening  the  doctor  spoke  of 
the  want  that  there  is  in  his  quarter  among  locksmiths, 
masons,  and  other  mechanics,  who  caimot  earn  their  living 
because  they  have  so  many  children.  "How  many?"  I 
afterwards  ask  of  Victor.  "  Three  or  four."  "  And  do 
their  wives  do  anything?"     "They  do  their  house-work 

6* 


118  FRENCH  AND  BELGIANS. 

{Elks  font  leur  cuisine) ;  they  cannot  do  more."  "  Because 
of  having  so  many  cliildren  ?"  "Yes,  yes."  "And  liow 
much  do  they  earn  a  day?"  "Tliree,  four,  five  francs." 
He  tells  me  that  the  doc^tor  said  that  what  we  need  is  to 
find  out  a  way  to  prevent  this  want.  "  I  know  how  it 
could  be  done,"  says  Victor.  "And  how?"  "By  the 
patrons,  the  masters,  being  satisfied  with  making  seven 
francs  instead  of  ten."  On  another  occasion  I  understand 
the  doctor  to  say  that  the  cause  of  this  want  is  that  cjipital 
is  on  one  side  and  labor  on  the  other,  and  that  labor  is 
obliged  to  accept  the  terms  offered.  He  adds  that  there 
are  little  vices  to  which  the  laborer  is  addicted  ;  he  smokes, 
he  drinks,  and  loses  his  time.  He  says  that  there  are  not 
such  great  families  of  children  here  as  in  England. 


It  may  be  remembered  that  I  have  been  visiting  a  girls' 
public  or  communal  school,  beginning  with  the  lowest  class. 
When  last  there  I  proposed  to  pay  another  visit  this  week, 
but  the  principal  said  that  she  could  not  j)romise  me  much, 
as  Thursday  would  be  the  time  of  the  first  communion, 
and  the  school  would  be  much  deranged  upon  that  account. 
Well,  then,  I  would  not  go  there  until  Friday  and  Saturday. 
This  l)eing  the  proposed  Friday,  I  go  to  the  school,  and 
find  it  in  confusion, — in  disorganization,  if  I  may  be  allowed 
to  say  so.  The  principal  is  at  church  with  pupils  who  are 
hearing  a  mass  of  thatiksgiving  for  the  first  communion  of 
yesterday ;  twenty-four  from  this  school  made  their  first 
communion,  and  thirty-six  j)ersevcrcd.  The  pupils  who 
are  now  at  church  have  permission  to  rest,  if  they  wish, 
for  the  remainder  of  the  day.  They  will  return  from 
church  to  sidute  their  teachers,  but  verv  few  of  them  will 
be  here  in  the  afternoon.     Among  those  absent  from  school 


PARIS!.  JJ9 

now  are  some  who  have  permission  to  accompany  brothers  or 
sisters  to  the  mass.  Next  Wednesday  there  will  be  another 
ceremony  at  church, — the  confirmation, — but  there  will  not 
be  so  many  absent  then.  I  have  spoken  of  the  schools 
being  in  a  state  of  disorganization  ;  but,  in  conversing  with 
two  of  the  teachers,  they  are  not  satisfied  with  the  expres- 
sion :  they  consider  it  more  exact  to  say  that  on  account  of 
the  obligatory  absence  of  the  principal,  and  of  many  of  the 
children,  their  classes  are  found  depopulated.  I  inquire  of 
them  about  the  clerical  schools,  and  I  understand  that  these 
were  established  before  the  others;  they  say  that  the  nuns 
have  money  to  furnish  children  with  clothing  that  they 
may  need.  "Where  do  they  get  it?"  I  inquire.  "  It  is 
given  to  them  by  rich  ladies."  "At  the  clerical  school," 
I  say,  "there  is  a  crucifix  and  there  are  pictures."  Tri- 
umphantly one  or  both  point  to  a  crucifix,  which  I  had  not 
noticed, — a  small  one, — on  high  over  the  principal's  desk. 
These  are  furnished  to  all  the  city  schools  (some,  of  course, 
would  not  accept  them, — the  Protestants  and  Jews).  In  the 
principal's  room  I  find  that  out  of  thirty-six  pupils,  six  are 
present  to-day.  I  ask  who  gives  them  their  lessons  in  her 
absence,  and  they  point  to  the  blackboard ;  their  duties 
are  assigned  to  them.  Here  I  look  into  a  school  history, 
and  find  it  highly  enthusiastic  on  the  subject  of  Napoleon 
Bonaparte.  About  half-past  ten  the  principal  returns  from 
church.  She  looks  very  neat  in  a  black  cashmere,  hand- 
somely trimmed  with  black  silk,  a  gay  neck-ribbon,  and 
gay  bonnet.  Afterwards  a  flower  is  brought  in  in  a  pot ; 
I  imagine  it  a  present  to  her  for  her  attention  in  bringing 
the  children  to  church.  I  finish  the  morning  in  the  room 
of  the  second-class  teacher,  the  only  one  unmarried.  She 
is  very  agreeable ;  I  will  call  her  Miss  Fleutet.  She 
seemed  to  me  more  piously  inclined  than  the  others,  and 


120  FRENCH  AND  BELGIANS. 

there  appears  to  be  a  difference  in  sentiment  between  lier 
and  others  on  the  question  of  religions  education  in  the 
schools.  She  tells  me  that  those  parents  who  do  not  want 
it  are  spendthrifts  and  drunkards.  She  complains  that  i)er 
class  is  badly  graded  ;  the  inspector,  finding  the  fourth  class 
too  full,  had  divided  pupils  from  it  between  the  second  and 
third  classes.  She  says  that  she  thinks  he  is  trying  an 
experiment.  I  ask  the  salary  of  inspectors,  and  she  thinks 
it  is  six  thousand  francs.  In  this  school  there  are  two  hun- 
dred pupils,  of  whom  one  is  Protestant  and  one  Jewish 
(already  mentioned).  In  Miss  Fleutet's  room  maps  are 
hanging,  and  here  I  observe  the  same  centralization — if  I 
may  use  the  word — that  I  have  seen  elsewhere.  It  is 
France,  France,  France.  There  is  a  map  of  the  ward  in 
which  the  school  stands ;  one  of  Paris  and  its  environs ; 
one  of  the  department  of  the  Seine, — that  department,  small 
in  size  but  great  in  jwpulation,  in  which  Paris  stands;  there 
is  also  an  outline  map  of  France,  with  a  small  part  of  ad- 
jacent countries;  and  the  only  other  unrolled  is  one  of 
Palestine  (I  infer  for  sacred  history).  She  has  only  one 
blackboard,  and  it  is  not  large.  There  is  a  little  altar  or 
shrine,  with  a  small  image  of  Mary  and  a  couple  of  flower- 
IK)ts.  But  this  "  Holy  Virgin"  is  also,  I  think,  fnrnishetl 
to  the  schools.  After  leaving  the  schix)l  I  desire  some 
further  information,  and  I  address  a  note  to  this  teacher, 
who  is  so  i)olite  as  to  come  and  call  upon  me,  as  I  shall 
mention. 

Among  the  various  objects  which  I  see  at  this  season 
upon  the  varied  streets  of  Paris  are  the  young  girls  dressed 
for  the  first  communion.  I  see  one  to-tlay  in  white  muslin, 
no  bonnet,  but  a  long,  white  veil,  and  white  shoes,  like  a 
bride.     They  are  interesting.     My  American  friend  says 


PARIS.  121 

that  white  prayer-books  and  white  porte-monnaies  are  also 
used  on  this  occasion, — a  prayer-book  bound  in  bone  or  i  vory^ 
and  a  wliite  porte-mounaie  in  which  to  carry  the  offering  ; 
but  I  do  not  find  that  a  contribution  is  obligatory.  Boys 
wear  a  white  brassard,  or  handsome  ribbon,  around  the 
arm,  and  sometimes  white  pantaloons,  but  the  weather 
as  yet  is  not  suited  to  such  clothing. 


Upon  a  wall  I  see  a  handbill  concerning  a  sale  of  the 
goods  of  some  woman  deceased.  The  handbill  is  printed 
by  Widows  Renon,  Maulde,  and  Cock,  Rue  de  Rivoli,  No. 
144.  Victor  tells  me  jestingly  that  their  husbands  were 
printers ;  and,  after  having  well  wept  them,  they  continued 
the  business. 

I  tell  him  that  ray  relative  will  think  him  a  dreadful 
Republican  if  she  sees  his  invitations  headed  "  Liberty ! 
Equality  !  Fraternity !"  He  answers  gayly  that  he  is  as 
well  known  as  the  white  wolf.  "  When  they  see  me  per- 
sons say,  *  Via  un  bon  !'     There  is  a  good  fellow." 


Saturday,  May  25th. — Summer  days  are  long  in  this 
latitude.  This  morning  at  about  a  quarter  before  four  the 
sparrows  begin  to  twitter,  and  I  can  read  coarse  print  at 
the  window. 

To-day,  at  the  Exposition,  I  see  a  crowd  in  our  Mechan- 
ical Department,  gathered  around  Fay's  band-saw,  and 
there  are  many  thoughtful  and  interested  faces.  One  per- 
son is  a  Swiss,  another  a  German,  and  workmen  in  white 
blouses  or  in  blue  clothes  are  conspicuous  among  the  crowd. 

Madame  C,  the  French  lady  from  the  south,  whose  hus- 
band is  exhibiting  here,  is  attentive  to  me  to-day ;  and  I 
am  delighted  to  learn  that  all  the  difficulties  in  the  way 


122  FRENCH  AND  BELGIANS. 

of  my  going  to  their  neighborhood  are  likely  to  be  removed. 
She  and  I  observe  among  the  crowd  of  people  a  young  lady 
dressed  in  black  silk,  who  holds  up  her  dress  and  shows 
her  nice  white  skirt,  her  sky-blue  silk  stockings,  and  her 
low  shoes  with  plated  buckles  and  very  high  heels.  Ma- 
dame C.  says  that  those  heels  fatigue  her  enormously,  but 
that  the  lady  would  not  like  to  say  so  because  of  coquetry 
(or  desire  to  please). 

At  the  Exposition  there  is  a  very  showy  collection  of 
fruit  and  tomatoes,  exhibited  by  Ella  Haller,  of  Philadel- 
phia. A  Belgian  woman  who  is  looking  at  it  tells  me  that 
we  have  some  very  fine  fruits  in  that  island  there,  and  it  is 
surprising  l)ecause  we  have  not  a  fine  sun.  Probably  she 
confuses  us  with  England. 

Sunday,  May  2{ith. — When  I  got  home  last  evening, 
Victor  told  me  of  the  vexation  that  he  has  had  about  reg- 
istering the  baby's  birth.  Upon  the  birth  of  a  child  notice 
must  be  given  within  three  days  at  the  mayor's  office  (there 
being  twenty  mayors  in  as  many  different  wards).  An  old 
law  required  that  the  child  should  lye  brought  within  three' 
days  and  its  sex  examined,  that  France  should  not  be 
cheated  out  of  a  young  soldier.  But  this  early  exposure 
was  considered  so  injurious  to  the  health  of  children  that 
the  law  was  modifie<l,  and  a  certain  officer  or  officers  are 
now  allowe<l  to  visit  the  house  and  see  the  infant.  While 
1  was  at  the  Exposition,  and  Victor  absent  awhile,  leaving 
word  with  the  concierge,  the  officer  came,  but  refused  to  await 
Victor's  return,  and  demanded  that  the  child  should  be  pre- 
sented at  the  mayor's.  Victor  wanted  to  contest  this  order, 
but  to-day  he  concludes  to  got  a  carriage  atid  go,  and  T  ac- 
company him.  I  carry  the  baby  (Victor  is  lame),  and  al- 
though the  day  is  fine,  I  must  l)e  horribly  shut  up  in  the 
carriage  on  account  of  that  precious  infant.     We  do  not 


PARIS.  123 

find  the  mayor,  but  a  clerk ;  another  party  is  before  us, — a 
man,  a  woman,  and  another  man  to  act  as  witness.  That 
baby  has  been  brought  on  foot,  and  is  a  day  old.  When 
they  are  through,  Victor  allows  the  clerk  to  examine  his 
little  one,  and  I  can  look  at  the  handbills  around  the 
room.  Many  questions  are  asked,  thus :  "  What  is  your 
name?  what  your  wife's?  what  is  your  age?  what  is  hers? 
what  is  your  business  ?"  "Book-keeper."  "  What  is  hers  ?" 
"Teacher  of  the  piano."  "  Is  the  child  to  be  put  away  ?" 
"  No."  So  the  clerk  need  not  prepare  a  notice  on  that  ac- 
count. The  law  forbids  giving  family  names :  if  my  name 
is  Smith  and  I  have  a  cousin  named  Green,  I  must  not 
name  my  son  Green  Smith,  because  he  might  choose  to  call 
himself  Green  and  cause  confusion ;  but  I  may  call  him 
Byron  Smith,  l>ecause  it  is  permitted  to  name  children  for 
great  men.     See  how  guarded  France  is ! 

I  have  spoken  of  the  notices  upon  the  walls  of  the  office. 
One  is  of  the  society  to  protect  infancy,  recognized  as  an 
establishment  of  public  utility  in  1869.  This  society  un- 
dertook to  send  physicians — its  agents — to  watch  over  the 
health  of  children  placed  at  a  distance  from  their  parents, 
and  entirely  free  of  cost  to  them.  But  now  the  govern- 
ment has  taken  this  matter  in  charge. 


I  here  bring  together  several  different  items  of  interest. 
As  the  French  so  rarely  emigrate  to  our  country,  I  ask 
Victor  what  becomes  of  their  surplus  population.  He  says 
that  they  have  none,  but  are  bringing  laborers  from  Italy 
and  Belgium. 

I  am  told  that  under  the  Empire  deputies  received  12,000 
francs  a  year,  and  senators  30,000 ;  but  that  now  both  are 
paid  alike,  9000,  or  $1800,  which  is  very  low  compared 
with  the  $5000  paid  to  our  Congressmen. 


124  FRENCH  AND  BELGIANS. 

There  are  free  lectures  at  tlie  Garden  of  Plants,  the  Col- 
lege of  France,  and  the  Sorl)onne;  but  the  lycees  and  the 
college  Ciiaptal  are  pay -schools,  although  consideral  public. 
There  are  five  classes  of  iuspectors  of  public  schools,  the 
fifth  being  lowest.  The  first  is  occupied  with  sujjerior  instruc- 
tion, as  in  the  lycees. 

I  lately  saw  two  youths  of  about  seventeen  seated  before 
a  restaurant  with  glasses  of  black  coffee,  one  of  them  pour- 
ing somethiug  from  a  bottle  into  his  coffee,  and  the  other 
waiting  to  pour.  Is  not  our  habit  of  drinking  milk  in 
coffee  more  wholesome  than  drinking  spirits,  and  quite  as 
cheap  ? 

Victor  says  that  the  best  mutton-chops  cost  thirty-two 
sous  the  French  pound  (about  one-tenth  heavier  than  ours). 
Chester  cheese,  which  resembles  ours,  sells,  lie  says,  at  forty- 
eight  sous  the  pound.  Sausages  sell  thus :  small  ones,  of 
which  there  are  twenty-four  in  a  pound,  at  twenty-four 
sous ;  a  larger  sausage,  at  from  forty  to  sixty  sous  the 
pound,  also  at  eighty  sous;  but  these  last  have  black  truf- 
fles and  pistachio-nuts  mixed  with  the  pork. 

At  I^blanc's  they  have  a  great  red  cushion,  quite  light, 
which  sometimes  is  stowed  away  in  a  closet  and  sometimes 
rests  on  their  bed-foot.  They  call  it  an  eiderdown,  Mredon: 
such  are  much  used  for  beds, — I  suppose  to  lay  upon  the 
lower  part  in  cold  weather. 


Monday  Morning,  May  27th. — The  woman  who  was  to 
come  and  help  in  the  household  has  again  disappointed 
Victor,  and  he  will  not  take  in  a  person  unknown  to  him- 
self; HO  we  shall  try  to  got  along  without.  I  can  stay  in 
for  awhile  at  hours  that  he  must  be  away;  therefore  this 
morning  I  take  my  walk  early,  before  he  leaves,  and  have 


PARIS.  125 

an  opportunity  to  see  how  tlie  streets  look  at  this  liour.  A 
blooming  young  woman,  dressed  in  white  and  accompanied 
by  one  in  black,  is  going,  I  hear,  to  be  confirmed.  A 
woman  illustrates  the  ceremony  for  me  by  giving  herself 
two  or  three  light  blows  upon  the  cheek.  Women  with 
big  brooms  are  helping  sweep  the  street.    Hard-looking  but 

tidy  women  are  standing  and  waiting  on  the  place  St. , 

— waiting  for  some  one  to  come  and  hire  them  to  wash; 
which  recalls  the.  scripture,  "Why  stand  ye  here  all  the 
day  idle?     Because  no  man  hath  hired  us." 

Passing  along,  I  see  a  woman  who  has  let  down  a  great 
basket  of  bread,  and  is  carrying  a  loaf  into  a  grocer's. 
People  are  overhauling  the  heaps  of  refuse  from  the  houses. 
I  see  a  woman  empty  the  vessels,  and  a  girl  overhauling 
the  contents.  It  is  usual  to  take  these  doAvn  at  evening 
and  set  them  in  the  court-yard,  whence  they  are  taken  away. 
I  cannot  believe  that  all  this  excellent  green  stuff  is  to  go 
to  waste  or  to  be  hauled  away  and  made  into  manure;  but 
the  girl  that  I  have  mentione<l  seems  stupid  and  not  to 
know  anything  about  swine,  but  to  make  the  gathering  of 
rags  and  paper  her  business.  Still,  none  of  these  people 
have  the  horrible,  degraded  look  of  ragpickers  with  us. 
The  streets  are  so  clean,  that  it  is  easier  for  them  to  be  so. 
Sometimes  they  have  a  little  donkey-cart.  Bits  of  bread,  I 
see,  are  sorted  from  the  refuse,  and  once  a  woman  tells  me 
of  rabbits  that  can  be  fed,  and  chickens. 

W^hat  delightful  omnibus-horses  I  have  seen  in  Paris! 
but  some  of  the  hackney-horses  are  shabby :  doubtless 
the  Exposition  is  hard  upon  them.  An  immense  quan- 
tity of  carriages  are  employed.  Many  of  the  laboring- 
horses  are  white,  with  heavy  feet  and  shaggy  ankles,  and 
wdar  great  wooden  collars,  often  with  blue  sheep-skins  upon 
them. 


J26  FRENCH  AND  BELGIANS. 

Tuesday,  May  l^th. — Tliis  morning  a  woman  comes  to 
see  rac,  bringing  two  shoes  from  the  slioemaker  to  see 
Mrhich  I  will  have  mine  made  like.  She  is  hired  at  the 
shoemaker's,  and  her  hnsband  in  a  restaurant.  She  says 
that  they  never  eat  together ;  he  gets  home  about  eleven  at 
night,  and  she  must  be  at  her  place  at  seven.  She  speaks 
of  having  had  a  child  and  lost  it;  and  her  employer's  wife, 
who  is  very  sweet, — tr^  gentille, — has  had  three  children  in 
about  three  years,  and  has  been  injured  by  the  wise  woman, 
or  midwife.  Mrs.  Leblanc  advises  a  doctor;  but  the  other 
says,  "Oh,  that  costs  so  much!  That  costs  two  hundred 
francs!"  "Oh,  not  always  so  much,"  says  Mrs.  L., — 
"sometimes  sixty."  But  although  she  advises  a  doctor, 
she  tells  of  her  mother's  having  been  injured  by  one. 

About  noon  we  breakfast,  and  Victor  wishes  to  treat 
me;  so,  after  the  boiled  beef,  fried  potatoes,  and  so  forth, 
he  brings  a  dish,  which  he  says  is  expensive, — artichokes 
stuffed  with  a  little  sausage-meat.  They  are  not  what  we 
call  artichokes,  but  resemble  pine-<!ones;  you  break  off"  the 
scales  with  your  fingers,  and  suck  the  base  of  them.  I  do 
not  care  for  them. 

A  Protestant  teacher  whom  I  lately  met  invited  me  to 

come  and  see  her,  saying  that  she  is  at  home  on  the  last 

Thursday  in  every  month.     I  have  thought  of  going,  for 

invitjitions  from  French   women  are  rare  enough.      But 

to-day  I  receive  this  note : 

"  Paris,  26th  of  May,  1878. 

"  Dear  Madame, — Thursday  the  30th  being  the  day 
of  a  religious  festival,  I  shall  not  receive  that  day.  Be 
pleased  to  accept  my  sincere  compliments." 

Thursday  will  be  Ascension-day.  I  think  she  is  of  tfie 
Reformed  Church. 


PARIS.  127 

This  evening  we  are  speaking  of  teeth,  and  Victor  says 
that  he  does  not  like  people  to  think  a  great  deal  about 
them :  sometimes  marriages  are  broken  off  in  Paris  if  the 
young  lady  wants  a  tooth,  just  as  they  are  in  the  country 
if  the  bride's  father  can  only  give  two  cows  instead  of 
three,  as  he  had  promisetl. 


There  are  no  general  directories  here.  Victor  says  that  you 
must  pay  eight  francs  a  year  for  having  your  name  inserted 
in  one.  There  is,  too,  but  little  advertising  in  the  papers. 
But  there  is  one  kind  of  notice  in  them  which  we  do  not 
often  have  at  home.  Victor  has  had  two  hundred  little 
circulars  printed,  giving  notice  of  the  birth  of  his  little 
girl.  In  sending  them  he  puts  them  into  a  band,  like 
small  circulars.  He  says  that  it  would  take  two  thousand 
for  all  his  friends,  but  that  it  will  be  in  the  papers,  and 
they  can  see  it  there. 

Wednesday,  May  29/A. — In  my  early  morning  walk  I 
see  another  young  woman  in  white.  How  long  are  these 
white  dresses  for  religious  festivals  to  continue?  I  hear 
military  music  from  the  stone  barrack;  a  young  man  says 
that  it  is  from  the  musical  school.  "  At  what  time,"  I  ask, 
"  must  the  soldiers  get  up  ?"  "  At  five."  "  To  do  what  ?" 
With  a  shrug  he  answers,  "Nothing  at  all." 

I  enter  one  of  the  large  churches  where  the  young  peo- 
ple are  beginning  to  gather  for  confirmation.  There  is  a 
heavy,  unpleasant  smell  like  dead  flowers.  A  young 
woman  in  white  is  putting  off  her  black  shoes  to  put  on 
white  ones.  A  nice-looking  man  of  about  forty  is  at  his 
devotions ;  and  I  see  guardians  of  the  peace,  but  not  at 
prayer.     They  are  to  preserve  order.     Here  comes  a  troop 


128  FRENCH  AND  BELGIANS. 

of  girls  in  white,  escorted  by  a  nun, — a  fine-looking  |)er- 
son ;  here  is  a  boy  with  white  cravat  and  pantaloons, 
and  the  white  ribbon  tied  round  his  arm ;  one  woman  in 
black  accompanies  a  young  woman  in  white,  whose  hair  in 
front  of  her  veil  seems  artificially  curled,  the  veil  being 
fastened  on  top  of  the  head  and  falling  down  behind.  Ti>e 
elder  woman  arranges  her  dress,  and  smiles  as  if  she  were 
going  to  the  theatre. 

I  have  spoken  of  Mi&s  Fleutet,  teacher  in  the  communal 
school, — the  one  who  seemed  piously  inclined.  To-day  she 
is  so  polite  as  to  call  upon  me.  Her  salary  is  seventeen 
hundre<l  and  ten  francs  a  year, — three  hun<lred  and  forty 
dollars, — and  she  has  taken  an  orphan-girl  to  bring  up. 
The  mother  was  a  widow  and  a  teacher,  and,  dying,  left 
five  children.  At  first  Miss  Fleutet  only  took  the  little 
girl  for  a  limited  period,  but  she  began  to  love  her.  "She 
is  sweet,"  she  says.  "She  loves  me  well,  too."  I  am 
astonished  that  a  person  so  situatetl  should  assume  such 
a  burden.  "And  suppose  you  fall  sick?"  1  ask.  "I 
will  go  to  a  hospital,"  she  answers  with  spirit.  It  was  a 
priest  who  suggested  this  course  to  her.  "  He  knew  what 
I  neede<l,"  she  says,  "and  my  little  girl  shall  never  suffer 
from  loneliness  as  I  have  done.  I  cannot  have  so  hand- 
some a  dress,  but  I  have  the  company  of  my  little  girl, 
who  is  not  bright,  but  she  is  sweet, — has  tact,  has  heart." 
Miss  Fleutet  has  received  a  holiday  to-day  from  her  prin- 
cipal, in  order  to  accompany  a  young  girl  to  confirmation  ; 
and  her  little  girl  wanted  a  cake  at  dejcuneTy  l)ecause  it  is 
a  festival.  Miss  F.  subscril)es  for  a  small  pai>er  for  her, 
called  21ic  French  Doll,  and  she  allows  her  to  read  it 
today,  also,  because  it  is  a  festival.  " When  she  does 
well,  I  pay  her,"  she  says;  "and  when  she  does  ill,  she 


PARIS.  129 

pays  me."  I  offer  her  a  trifle  to  get  sometliing  for  the 
child,  but  she  refuses  it.  She  has  had  such  offers  before, 
but  the  little  girl  is  her  own  charge.  When  the  mother's 
health  was  failing  she  was  allowed  to  go  to  Algiers, 
but  this  did  not  restore  her.  Miss  F.  thinks  that  she 
may  have  suffered  from  insufficient  nourishment, — a  widow, 
the  mother  of  five  children,  upon  such  a  slender  salary. 
Of  the  four  brothers,  the  eldest  is  now  able  to  support 
himself,  and  a  rich  priest  took  the  three  others, — the  same 
who  suggested  that  Miss  Fleutet  should  take  the  girl.  She 
says  that  he  belongs  to  one  of  the  most  ancient  families 
in  France.  He  first  took  the  three  sons,  and  has  since  es- 
tablished an  asylum  for  fifty  orphan-boys.  He  has  also 
founded  an  orphanage  of  two  hundred  young  girls,  for  on 
the  death  of  his  father  he  came  into  his  fortune. 


CHAPTER    IX. 

Thursday,  May  30th. — Ascension-day,  and  Victor  has  a 
holiday,  which  sets  me  at  liberty;  also  the  employes  of  the 
post-office  have  half  holiday,  so  it  is  well  that  I  mailed  a 
certain  note  yesterday.  I  go  to  the  omnibus-office  to  get 
conveyance  to  the  Exposition.  A  little  party  in  the  office  I 
judge  to  be  my  countrymen  ;  for  the  lady,  who  is  social  with 
the  man  in  charge,  speaks  better  ^Massachusetts  or  Connec- 
ticut than  French.  This  being  a  holiday,  there  is  a  crowd 
at  the  Exposition.  To  get  into  the  restaurant  Duval  we 
form  a  queue,  and  after  I  get  in  the  bar  is  shut  down. 


Friday,  3fay  Slst. — I  have  several  times  visited  a  great 
church  in  Paris,  to  which  I  will  now  give  an  assumed  name, 


130  FRENCH  AND  BELGIANS. 

and  call  it  St.  Christopher.  In  my  notes  I  speak  in  this 
manner:  "You  may  go  into  tliis  church  to  see  the  ceremo- 
nies and  to  take  notes,  but  you  will  probably  leave  with  the 
feeling  of  reverence,  of  devotion  increased."  But  my  ex- 
perience this  morning  is  different.  It  was  before  seven  when 
I  got  to  the  church.  The  "  Liberty,  Equality,  and  Fra- 
ternity," cut  on  a  great  stone  on  each  side  of  the  entrance- 
door,  seems  to  be  something  incongruous.  Early  as  I  am, 
there  is  some  one  within  the  church, — a  great  man  in  a 
black-velvet  cap,  a  dark-blue  frock-coat,  and  trousers 
trimmed  with  braid  like  gold.  I  inquire  of  him  when 
this  inscription  was  put  u|)on  the  church.  "  Don't  know, — 
on  ne  sail  pas"  "  Was  it  not  at  tiie  time  of  this  last  re- 
public?" "  Yes."  "And  all  these  churches,"  I  add,  "  be- 
long to  the  state  ?"  "  Yes."  "And  does  the  state  pay  for 
all  repairs  ?"  "  Don't  know ;  but  as  to  this  liberty,  equality, 
and  fraternity,  they  are  lies !  I  say  it,  and  I  sustain  it  and 
I  maintain  it !"  I  tell  him  that  I  am  from  a  republic, — from 
the  United  States.  He  is  willing  to  admit  that  that  is  well, 
but  he  rejieats  his  former  saying,  "They  are  lies!  I  say 
it,  and  I  sustain  it  and  I  maintain  it!"  Going  away  and 
returning,  he  asks:  "You  occupy  yourself  with  politics?" 
"Yes;  in  my  country  some  women  do."  Then  I  under- 
stand him  to  say,  "But  women  do  not  serve  as  soldiers: 
women  are  nothing."  I  tell  iiim  about  States  in  our  Union 
where  women  have  voted  and  served  on  juries.  He  says 
that  there  are  no  true  republicans  in  France,  although  they 
talk  about  republicanism.  "Liberty,  Equality,  and  Fra- 
ternity! With  whom  are  you  willing  to  make  yourself 
equal  ?  With  jMiople  who  suit  you  ?"  I  tell  him  that  there 
are  Catholic  republicans  in  Switzerland.  As  he  goes  away 
and  returns  again,  I  endeavor  to  explain  something  I  have 
said;  but  he  says, — and  I  think  that  he  does  not  look  with 


PARIS.  131 

favor  upon  my  note-book, — "  Madame,  you  occupy  yourself 
with  things  that  you  sliould  not.  Go  and  see  Mr.  the  Cur6 
of  St.  Christopher's.  He  will  tell  you  things;  but,  as  for 
us,  it  is  not  for  us  to  inform  you.  Go  and  see  Mr.  the 
Cur6."  He  comes  again,  and  says  that  if  I  wish  informa- 
tion there  is  a  priest  who  speaks  English.  There  is  now 
going  to  be  mass.  But  this  gentleman  will  inform  me.  I  tell 
him,  glad  to  escaj)e,  that  I  told  the  French  gentleman  with 
whom  I  board  that  I  would  be  back  to  take  coffee,  ^yhcn 
I  am  outside  the  door,  there  comes  forth  another  s])lendid 
man  (though  neither  is  young) ;  they  are  so  much  finer 
specimens  than  most  of  the  soldiers.  This  second  man  has 
a  feather-duster  in  his  hand,  and  wears  a  woven  woollen 
jacket,  but  a  velvet  cap  like  the  former.  Seeing  the  former 
so  handsomely  dressed,  I  did  not  know  but  he  was  some 
dignitary,  but  now  I  suspect  that  he  is  not.  And  as  to  the 
idea  that  women  are  nothing  because  they  are  not  soldiers, 
what,  then,  are  priests?  When  I  return  to  our  apartments, 
I  tell  Victor  that  when  he  wants  to  be  stirred  up  I  will  tell 
him  what  I  have  heard ;  and  when  I  have  begun,  he  says: 
"  Those  are  Savoyards  ;  they  are  Swiss,  who  march  before 
the  priest  in  processions.  If  I  had  been  talking  to  him,  I 
should  have  kept  my  hand  in  my  pocket  for  fear  he  would 
steal.  They  have  all  those  apish  tricks,  because  they  are 
paid  by  the  cur^.  And  if  I  had  heard  him  I  should  have 
said,  '  The  liar  is  in  your  skin.'  " 

''  He  said  that  there  are  no  republicans  here,"  I  added. 

"Oh,  you  mustn't  go  the  church  for  republicans.  Go 
to  the  church  for  hypocrites." 


Walking  out  later  in  the  day,  I  inquire  the  way  of  a  lad, 
and  also  tiill  him  that  I  have  seen  a  young  lady  in  white, 
— is  there  anything  at  church  to-day  ?   He  answers  promptly 


132  FRENCH  AND  BELGIANS. 

that  there  is  the  closing  of  the  month  of  Mary  ;  the  crown- 
ing of  the  Holy  Virgin  at  eight  o'clock  in  the  evening. 


To-day  I  have  called  upon  a  liberal  Protestant  gentle- 
man well  known  in  Paris.  He  says  that  at  present  the 
Catholic  clergy  receive  ten  million  of  dollars  yearly  ;  the 
Protestant  worship,  three  hundred  and  sixty  thousand  dol- 
lars; and  the  Jewish,  one  hundred  and  twenty  thousand 
dollars.*  For  repairing  the  churches  of  all  denomina- 
tions the  government  pays  three  million  dollars  yearly. 
The  gentleman  says  that  it  is  abominable  to  pay  those  who 
oppose  the  republic,  adding  that  the  priests  cimnot  be  re- 
publicans since  the  syllabus  of  Pius  IX.  He  gets  the 
volume  containing  it,  and  calls  my  attention  to  a  list  of 
the  opinions  condemned  by  tiie  church.  One  of  those 
which  Pius  declared  damnable  was  that  every  man  is  free 
to  embrace  and  profess  the  religion  which  seems  true  to 
him  by  the  light  of  reason.  Another  opinion  which  he 
condemns  is  that  the  civil  government  should  prevail  in 
case  of  a  conflict  between  it  and  the  church.  Another 
opinion  condemned  by  the  pope  is  that  public  schools 
should  l)e  I'ree  from  church  authority  and  under  the  civil 
authority.  The  opinions  censured  by  Pius  are  numerous. 
I  give  only  a  few  of  the  most  striking.  The  55th  error 
is  that  church  and  state  should  l)e  separate.  The  78th 
error  is  that  the  law  is  right  by  which  in  some  Catholic 

*  The  amount  paid  to  Jews  appears  to  be  overstated.  Since  my 
return  to  our  own  country  a  Purisinn  gentleman  informs  me  that  t)io 
propositions  for  th«!  budget  of  1880  are  ns  follows:  Cutholic  worship, 
fifty-one  million  nine  hundred  and  seventy-three  thousand  two  hun- 
dred and  eighteen  francs;  Protestant,  one  million  seven  hundred  and 
ninety>five  thousand  eight  hundred  francs;  Israelites,  two  hundred 
and  teven  thousand  francs. 


PARIS.  133 

countries  strangers  enjoy  the  public  exercise  of  their  private 
worship.  The  80th  is  one  of  the  most  remarkable.  It  is 
declared  to  be  an  error  that  the  pope  can  and  ought  to  be 
reconciled  with  progress,  liberalism,  and  modern  civiliza- 
tion. 

The  same  gentleman — the  liberal  Protestant — tells  me 
that  before  their  great  Revolution  of  1789  or  1793  the 
clergy  were  not  paid  by  the  state;  they  had  enormous 
estates.  The  Convention  decreed  that  these  estates  be- 
longed to  the  state,  and  offered  to  all  who  would  take  the 
oath  of  fidelity  a  certain  sum  of  money.  Many  of  the 
clergy  refused,  and  this  caused  the  revolts  in  La  Vendue 
and  elsewhere,  the  people  espousing  the  part  of  the  clergy. 
At  length  the  Convention  decreed  that  the  church  should 
be  entirely  separated  from  the  state, — not  paid  by  it;  and 
this  state  of  things  continued  until  1804,  when  Napoleon 
concluded  to  pay  the  clergy,  who  thus,  says  the  gentleman, 
became  a  sort  of  supplementary  police.  I  mention  to  this 
liberal  Protestant  what  one  of  my  friends  has  said  of  the 
Catholic  cantons  of  Switzerland  having  been  republican 
since  the  time  of  William  Tell.  He  replies  that  it  was  these 
cantons,  or  some  of  them,  which  caused  the  difficulties  that 
existed  in  Switzerland  some  years  ago. 


Victor  says  lately,  "  If  I  had  any  need  of  religion,  I 
would  join  Mr.  Dide's  church."  Mr.  Dide's  own  church 
is  the  liberal  Protestant  one  of  Paris  from  which  the  gov- 
ernment support  has  been  withdrawn,  f  If  I  had  any 
need  of  religion,"  said  Victor,  "I  would  join  Mr.  Dide's 
church ;  but  as  I  have  none,  I  let  it  pass."  I  ask,  a  little 
ironically,  "  You  have  no  need  of  a  law  to  which  to  conform 

7 


134  FRENCH  AND  BELGIANS. 

your  actions  ?"  "Yes,  yes!  I  conform  to  my  conscience 
and  my  heart,  and  that  is  enough."  "  But  do  you  think 
that  this  is  a  sure  guide  for  all  men, — that  their  conscience 
is  sufficiently  enlightened  ?"  "  Yes,  certainly ;  if  a  person 
is  instructed,  he  can  do  good  ;  if  he  he  not  learned,  he  can 
do  gootl ;  but  the  more  a  person  is  instructed  the  more  evil 
he  can  do."  Then  he  bursts  forth,  "  The  proof  is  all  tliis 
Catholic  clergy,  this  kennel  of  Napoleons,  and  all  the  kings 
of  France."  "  What  about  Henry  IV.  ?"  I  suggest.  "  One 
cannot  be  a  good  man — brave  homme — when  he  is  a  mon- 
arch ;  and  although  Henry  IV.  said  he  would  put  the  hen 
into  every  man's  pot,  yet  he  starved  Paris  to  make  himself 
king."  . 

Near  Mr.  Dide's  I  had  seen  a  vacant  lot,  where  in  a 
shanty  a  shoemaker  has  his  shop,  and  I  ask  Victor  whether 
a  poor  cobbler  can  vote  in  France.  "  Yes, — why  not?"  lie 
answers, — "  if  he  has  a  fixed  residence,  if  he  has  lived  six 
months  where  he  is,  if  he  has  not  been  imprisoned  for 
crime,  and  if  he  has  not  foiled  in  his  business."  This 
last  exception  surprises  me;  but  Victor  says  that  it  is  upon 
this  principle,  namely,  —  the  man  who  fails  dishonestly 
has  committetl  a  crime;  and  if  by  inattention  to  business, 
he  is  not  fit  to  attend  to  the  affairs  of  others.  I  under- 
stand, however,  that  if  a  bankrupt  pays  his  debts,  he  can 
then  vote.  "  Men  that  fail  go  off  to  America,"  Victor 
says. 

Victor  and  his  wife  do  not  now  admit  that  idleness  is 
the  only  cause  of  prostitution.  He  says  that  when  women 
earn  no  more  than  the  buttonhole-maker  of  whom  I  have 
8|)oken,  they  will  thus  eke  out  their  living;  or  a  girl  will 
meet  a  fellow  who  tells  her  how  he  loves  her :  "  I  am  out 
of  my  wits  about  you;  won't  you  come  with  me?     I  will 


PARIS.  135 

marry  you."  The  girl  says,  "I  must  go  and  ask  my 
mother."  " But  what  can  your  mother  have  against  it?" 
She  goes  with  him,  and  in  a  month  or  six  weeks  he  leaves 
her.  "  Do  you  remember,"  I  ask,  "  how  the  student  aban- 
dons the  girl  in  Victor  Hugo's  Les  Miserabksf  Victor 
is  a  member  of  Josephine  Butler's  Britannic  and  Conti- 
nental League  for  the  Abolition  of  Licensed  Prostitution. 
I  do  not  understand  that  the  society  is  large  here,  and  in 
such  a  city  the  reader  may  be  reminded  of  the  primer : 

"Little  David,  with  a  sling, 
At  Goliath  he  did  fling." 

Or  of  Hercules  and  the  Lernean  hydra. 


I  tell  Victor  that  Mr. had  spoken  as  if  there  were 

a  few  of  the  Catholic  clergy  who  are  republicans. 

"He  is  very  simple  to  tell  you  that."  "Well,"  I 
say,  "there  was  La  Mennais."  "All  the  cur6s  who  be- 
come republicans  throw  off  the  gown,"  says  Victor,  "La 
Mennais  did."  "And  he  died  in  want,"  adds  madame. 
Victor  adds  that  Father  Hyacinth  too  has  thrown  off  the 

gown. 

* 

I  tell  them  about  one  of  our  friends  lately  mounting  his 
high  horse  and  riding  off  on  his  hobby  of  Fourierism. 

They  reply,  "  Every  one  has  his  beast." 

Here  I  add  a  sketch  from  memory  of  the  gentleman's 
remarks :  "  There  is  now  a  new  religion.  The  Christian 
religion  is  nineteen  hundred  years  old,  and  was  founded 
upon  an  older  one ;  but  now  we  have  to  learn  the  law  of 
harmony,  of  attraction.  We  'have  it  in  physical  bodies ; 
the  proportions  of  numbers  give  us  the  harmony  of  mathe- 


136  FRENCH  AND  BELGIANS. 

matics;  and  the  harmony  of  sounds  is  music.     It  is  left 
now  to  establish  harmony  among  human  beings." 


Friday,  3Iay  Sis/. — "  We  lose  nothing  at  Paris,"  Victor 
says.  I  had  asked  them  for  a  bit  of  flannel  to  get  paint 
off  of  my  dress;  but  he  says  that  all  is  used,  and  shows 
me  a  baby's  shirt,  which,  he  says,  has  at  least  nine  pieces 
in  it.  I  never  saw  stockings  more  darned,  I  think,  than 
at  Paris;  yet  I  was  sometimes  surprised  to  hear  how  much 
had  been  paid  for  dresses.  In  this  volume  I  frequently 
have  occasion  to  speak  of  the  personal  neatness  of  the 
French.  Often  it  is  very  wonderful.  Yet  there  is  a 
law  binding  the  faithful  historian  which  induces  me  to 
add  that  in  France  I  sometimes  observed  a  misai)propria- 
tion  of  utensils,  or  the  using  of  one  vessel  for  highly 
dissimilat*  purposes.  Sometimes  this  may  be  caused  by 
economy.  One  tiling  which  I  thought  I  observed  re- 
jMjatedly  in  rural  France  was  tiie  taking  of  tiie  hand- 
towel  then  in  use,  to  wipe  dishes. 


Lately,  I  have  seen  the  Jesuits  of  the  College  of  St. 
Ignatius  walking  in  their  garden,  and  have  heard  their 
animated  talk.  They  walk  in  a  formal  manner,  but  chatter 
informally.  Three  of  them  walk  forward  a  few  paces  to 
meet  three  others,  and  then  the  two  sets  walk  backward, 
as  i)eople  do  in  dancing /o^ncartZ  two.  I  should  not  think 
that  iialf  an  hour  of  such  exercise  would  be  extremely 
useful.  I  suppose  tiiat  it  would  not  do  for  them  to  chop 
wood  like  Lyman  Beecher,  nnd  they  liave  no  opportunity 
to  take  home  tlie  peasant's  cow,  like  F6nelon.    As  for  their 


PARIS.  137 

talking  so  animatedly,  this  seems  exceptional ;  something 
uncommon  may  be  on  the  carpet. 

When  I  speak  of  them  to  Victor  he  says,  "There  are 
some  rascals  who  are  not  obliged  to  sweat  to  earn  their 
living  like  me."  The  state,  however,  does  not  pay  the 
religious  orders.  This  valuable  real  estate,  as  I  under- 
stand, was  left  to  the  Jesuits  by  a  woman,  and  Victor  says 
that  such  schools  as  theirs  sometimes  charge  very  high. 


Victor  says  that  on  account  of  the  Exposition  the  price 
of  everything  except  bread  has  risen.  He  estimates  that 
there  are  now  four  hundred  thousand  strangers  in  Paris, 
and  says  that  in  ordinary  times  there  are  one  hundred 
thousand.  Under  these  circumstances  we  must  not  expect 
Parisians  to  be  interested  in  every  stranger.  They  may  be 
said  to  live  in  the  grand  hotel  of  the  world,  and,  like  the 
hotel-keeper,  cannot  form  intimate  friendships  with  all  that 
come  and  go.  Victor  afterwards  tells  me  that  they  are 
afraid  of  strangers;  he  has  lent  money  to  Italians,  who 
did  not  repay  him. 

Saturday,  June  Ist. — For  several  mornings,  about  four 
o'clock,  I  have  been  listening  to  a  strange  noise,  heard  at 
intervals,  somewhat  like  dragging  a  chain ;  so  this  morn- 
ing, about  five,  I  go  on  a  voyage  of  discovery.  When  out- 
side the  door  of  our  apartments  I  do  not  hear  the  sound, 
but  when  nearly  down  the  first  two  flights  of  stairs  it  is 
very  audible.  I  find  that  it  comes  from  the  stable  on  our 
court-yard,  and  is  caused  by  a  horse  scraping  his  foot  on 
the  pavement.  I  can  see  him  by  getting  up  to  the  nice 
window  of  his  stable.  Probably  he  is  impatient,  after  he 
beholds  daylight,  for  the  groom  to  give  him  his  food. 


138  FRENCH  AND  BELGIANS. 

Our  friend  Mr.  Carpentier  was  engaged  day  and  even- 
ing of  the  30th  (Ascension-day)  in  celebrating  the  anniver- 
sary of  the  death  of  Voltaire.  There  was  a  banquet;  for 
Paris  is  great  on  banquets.  I  ask  Victor  to  bring  nie  an 
account  of  the  proceedings,  and  he  brings  The  Nineteenth 
Century,  jownal  ripublicain  conservateur.  I  ask  him  what 
conservateur  means,  and  he  answers  that  it  is  humbug;  so 
I  suppose  it  to  be  what  we  mean  by  conservative.  Tiie 
article  uix>n  the  centenary  of  Voltaire  opens  thus:  "The 
festival  of  Voltaire  has  been  what  it  must  be,  all  external 
ceremonies  being  interdicted."  I  ask  Victor  who  forbids 
public  meetings.  He  answers,  "  The  minister  of  the  in- 
terior." No  public  meeting  can  be  held  without  a  permit. 
Here  is  an  abbreviated  copy  of  one  from  the  chief  of  police, 
which  I  saw  while  in  Paris.  In  the  corner  are  the  words, 
"  Prefecture  of  Police,  Cabinet.  1st  Office.  Number  of 
the  paper,  58,733."  It  is  addressed  to  Mr.  Charles  Le- 
monnier:  "  Sir, — As  president  of  the  International  League 
of  Peace  and  Liberty,  you  have  applied  to  the  minister  of 
the  interior  to  obtain  authority  to  hold  at  Paris,  in  con- 
junction with  Messrs.  Dide,  Bratiano,  Morin,  etc.,  a  series 
of  public  lectures  upon  the  following  subjects:  Peace  and 
War,  International  Arbitration,  The  Law-suit  of  the  Ala- 
bama, The  United  States  of  Euroi>e,  etc.  The  minister  of 
the  interior  orders  me  to  inform  you  that  he  authorizes 
these  lectures  by  their  individual  titles,  but  that  he  sees 
serious  impropriety  in  giving  them  the  character  of  a  pul)- 
lic  manifest^ition  on  the  part  of  an  association  which  has 
no  legal  existence  in  France.  The  minister  adds  that  the 
handbills  and  programmes  should  make  no  mention  of  sjiid 
association.  Receive,  sir,  the  assurance  of  my  very  distin- 
guished consideration."  Signed  by  the  prefect  of  jwlice. 
These  last  remarks  about  the  association's  having  no  legsil 


PARIS.  139 

existence  in  France  are  called  out,  I  infer,  by  the  society's, 
being  an  international  one. 


Sunday,  June  2d. — One  morning  recently  I  was  out,  and 
was  late  at  breakfast,  which  I  took  about  12.30.  I  had 
an  excellent  piece  of  boiled  ham,  such  as  Victor  buys  by 
the  slice,  already  cooked,  and  pays  for  it  about  forty-three 
cents  a  pound. 

T  ask  him  what  that  woman  lives  on  who  earns  thirty 
sous  a  day.  "  I  do  not  know,"  he  answers ;  "  probably  on 
les  restes"  or  what  is  left  at  the  restaurants.  "  There  are 
people,"  he  continues,  "who,  when  they  have  a  boiled 
dinner,  sell  the  meat  instead  of  eating  it,  because  that  is 
cheaper  for  them.  I  will  show  you  that  at  the  Madeleine 
market." 

Although  this  is  Sunday,  I  again  hear  the  boys  at  play 
in  the  garden  of  the  clerical  school  before  mentioned,  and 
I  ask  Victor  how  this  can  be,  as  it  is  only  a  day-school. 
He  answers,  "  They  go  and  gather  up  the  children  to  have 
them  attend  to  their  religious  duties,  because  there  are 
parents  so  infamous  that  they  would  not  take  their  chil- 
dren to  mass."  The  expression  "so  infamous"  is,  of  course, 
satirical  on  Victor's  part. 

Last  evening,  at  the  house  of  a  friend,  I  saw  a  photo- 
graph of  one  of  our  acquaintances,  and  under  it  is  written 
Widow  Latour.  Victor  says  that  this  is  the  fashion;  and 
when  I  tell  him  that  we  should  not  think  it  good  taste  in 
my  country,  he  warms  up  and  inquires  how  we  should 
know  that  she  is  not  Miss  or  Mrs.,  as  it  is  not  written  in 
her  face. 

Coming  up  our  street  to-day  (Sunday)  from  the  boule- 
vard,— not  a  very  long  distance, — I  count  seven  shops  shut 


140  FRENCH  AND  BELGIANS. 

and  tliirleen  o|)en,  besides  the  apothecary's  and  several  res- 
taurants. It  is  not  very  uncommon  in  Paris  to  see  upon 
shop-shutters  the  sign,  "  Closed  on  Sundays  and  Festivals." 

When  I  reach  our  apartments  I  find  Madame  L.  up  and 
dressed  for  the  first  time  since  the  birth  of  the  little  one; 
and  now  she  is  walking  about  the  rooms.  The  doctor  in- 
sisted upon  ten  days  in  bed,  and  she  is  getting  along  very 
well.  Victor  is  exerting  himself  to  prepare  a  great  break- 
fast. I  go  to  the  cellar  with  him,  and  wait  while  he  draws 
the  wine.  He  puts  into  the  pannier,  or  metallic  basket, 
also  two  bottles  of  Bordeaux.  I  say,  "  You  are  going  to 
feast ;  you  only  draw  white  wine."  He  looks  at  me  by 
the  light  of  the  candle,  and  smiles.  Perhaps  he  is  going 
to  celebrate  madame's  getting  up.  At  breakfast,  about 
half-past  twelve,  we  have,  among  other  things,  sardines 
d  VAnglaise, — sardines  broiled  and  dressed  with  butter. 

We  must  not  suj)|)ose  that  jx)t'  names  are  not  heard  in 
France;  perhaps  they  are  more  common  among  young 
marrie<l  |HK)ple,  as  in  the  following  style :  "  Kiss  me,  my 
child!"  "Dost  thou  want  wine,  my  child?"  "Yes,  my 
dear."  One  evening,  when  I  got  home  late  to  dinner,  I 
found  the  Jjcblancs  eating  out  of  one  plate,  like  little  birds. 

To-day  at  dinner  we  also  have  Bordeaux,  but  I  cainiot 
see  the  charm  in  it.  Probably  this  is  not  first  quality. 
However,  when  you  have  a  treat  of  this  kind,  you  must 
drink  healths,  and  Victor  drinks  to  my  husband  and  fam- 
ily and  to  the  United  States,  adding,  "And  may  they  never 
allow  the  Catholic  religion  to  become  the  religion  of  state!" 
which  makes  me  laugh,  and  then  we  have  an  argument  on 
the  subject.  He  has  heard  from  one  or  more  friends  in 
New  York  that  the  Catholics  are  circulating  |K>titions  with 
this  aim.  I  endeavor  to  show  him  the  unreasonableness  of 
the  idea,  and  at   length  I   speak  of  England,  and  ask 


PARIS.  141 

whether  it  is  likely  that  such  petitions  would  be  circulated 
there.  I  think  that  I  succeed  in  reassuring  the  unhappy 
youth. 

I  tell  him  of  a  mistake  that  I  had  made  in  taking  cer- 
tain persons  who  visited  here  for  employes  in  a  restaurant. 
Madame  remarks  that  it  would  not  be  wrong  to  invite  such, 
and  Victor  says  that  Victor  Hugo  invites  the  poor  and 
unfortunate.  I  add  that  Jesus  Christ  says,  "  When  thou 
makest  a  feast,  invite  the  poor."  "  Do  not  tell  me  about 
Jesus  Christ,"  he  says;  and  afterwards  tells  of  Protestants 
who  would  not  join  them  in  the  league  against  prostitution, 
but  organized  one  of  their  own  and  did  nothing.  But  as 
he  goes  on  to  speak  of  the  Christian  religion  he  seems  to 
identify  it  with  Catholicism. 


Monday,  June  3d. — Being  out  this  morning  about  half- 
past  eight,  I  see  onuiibuses  labelled  "  ficole  Monge,"  which 
are  taking  boys  to  school.  Another  omnibus  with  fine 
horses  belongs  to  the  school  of  St.  Anne.  Madame  Le- 
blanc  tells  me  of  the  first  that  it  is  a  school  of  high  stand- 
ing, and  sends  its  omnibuses  into  all  quarters  of  Paris 
to  take  up  outside  students.  In  the  same  manner,  she 
adds,  does  the  Jesuit  college  before  spoken  of.  It  has 
many  omnibuses, — not  labelled  "  College  of  St.  Ignatius," 
however,  but  "Day-St^hool  of  the  Street  of  Madrid." 

I  see  also  this  morning  two  processions,  one  of  boys  and 
one  of  lads  and  young  men,  coming  from  different  direc- 
tions ;  perhaps  they  are  going  to  a  lycSe  in  this  quarter  of 
Paris. 

While  in  France  the  weather  was  very  rarely  too  warm 
for  rae,  and  our  extremes  of  heat  and  cold  may  seem  almost 
barbarous  to  them.     This  morning,  however,  is  warm,  and  I 

7* 


142  FRENCH  AND  BELGIANS. 

see  in  my  walk  an  ecclesiastic  with  his  broad-brimmed, 
tiirned-iip  hat,  carrying  upon  his  arm  his  over-robe,  which, 
by  the  way,  seems  to  be  a  little  moth-eaten. 

To-day  I  call  upon  a  gentleman  of  my  acquaintance, 

who  is  a  doctor  of  law.     He  lives  upon  the  Quai , 

and  I  afterwards  discover  that  I  have  been  upon  one  of 
the  islands  in  the  Seine, — the  Isle  de  la  Cit6,  and  one  of  the 
oldest  parts  of  Paris.  My  friend  is  unraarrietl,  but  has 
apartments.  The  staircase  is  not  so  well  kept  as  ours  at 
I^blanc's,  but  when  I  get  up  I  find  that  he  has  quite  a  nice 
parlor,  with  a  large,  handsome  rug,  and  books,  and  plants. 
I  see  a  picture  of  Garibaldi,  and  he  tells  me  that  he  was  a 
member  of  Garibaldi's  regiment. 

I  tell  him  of  one  of  my  acquaintances  in  our  country 
who,  having  children,  left  all  his  proj)erty  to  his  wife. 
This  cannot  be  done  here,  he  says :  if  a  man  has  one  child, 
he  can  leave  half  his  property  to  his  wife  or  to  some  other; 
if  two,  he  can  will  away  the  third ;  if  more  than  two,  he 
can  only  give  away  the  fourth.  Upon  the  law  of  divorce 
the  gentleman  also  sj>eaks.  Under  the  Convention  divorce 
was  allowe<l  by  mutual  consent,  if  the  parties  api)eared 
l)efore  a  legal  tribsnal  and  received  the  |>ermissi(m ;  the 
Code  Na|)ol6on  also  allowed  divorces  for  various  causes; 
but  in  1816  divorce  was  abolished,  and  all  demands  for 
divorce  are  changed  into  demands  for  separation.  The 
wife,  in  cases  of  separation,  may  be  obliged  to  give  some- 
thing for  the  husband's  support  if  she  be  rich  and  in  fault. 
In  s|)eaking  of  judges,  I  learn  that  in  France  all  judges 
are  ap(>ointed  for  life  by  the  minister  of  justice,  with  the 
signature  of  the  president  of  the  republic.  All  magistrates 
are  apjiointed  for  life  in  the  same  way. 

Ik'fore  leaving  those  subjects  I  desire  to  add  that  I  meet 
jxjrsons  in  Paris  who  are  demanding  a  law  for  divorce  and 


PARIS.  143 

a  law  to  prove  paternity,  an  unmarried  woman  over 
eighteen  years  of  age  who  has  a  child  being  now  unable  to 
recover  anything  from  the  father. 

I  ask  my  friend  the  lawyer  to  explain  the  Commune, 
and  he  says  that  many  who  are  republicans  do  not  under- 
stand it,  nor  do  those  who  were  in  it.  Was  it  like  one  of 
those  sudden  outbursts  of  passion  in  which  a  man  does  and 
says  things  quite  unpremeditated  ? 


This  evening  we  receive  a  visit  from  a  very  agreeable 
gentleman,  the  liberal  Protestant  lately  mentioned.  Tiie 
conversation  turning  upon  two  of  the  great  divisions  of 
Christians,  Mr.  D.  says,  "  There  is  a  saying  in  France  that 
when  there  are  three  Catholics  together  two  of  them  ap- 
point the  third  a  pope,  but  when  there  are  three  Protestants 
each  goes  to  work  to  form  a  new  Church  or  religion."  I 
understand  Mr.  D.  to  say  that  there  are  in  France  thirty- 
eight  millions  called  Catholics,  and  about  four  hundred 
thousand  Protestants.  Then  the  disproportion  is  greater 
than  I  had  thought.  The  revocation  of  the  Edict  of  Nantes, 
which  drove  so  many  Protestants  out  of  the  kingdom,  of 
course  had  much  to  do  with  this. 

Mr.  D.  explains  to  us  the  troubles  of  the  liberal  Protest- 
ant Church  in  Paris;  some  of  the  terms  are  difficult  to 
understand.  It  seems  that  Coquerel,  who  preached  in  this 
church,  was  the  suffragan  of  Martin  Pachoud,  of  the  Re- 
formed Church  of  France,  and  was  obliged  to  renew  his 
suffraganship  every  five  years.  In  1863  he  appeared  for 
this  purpose,  and  by  the  action  of  Guizot,  the  historian,  it 
was  refuse<l  to  Coquerel.  Guizot  appeared  in  the  consis- 
tory, and,  reading  passages  from  Coquerel 's  sermons,  asked 
him  whether  he  could  say  that  he  believed  in  the  divinity 


144  FRENCH  AND  BELGIANS. 

of  Jesus  Christ.  "How!"  said  Coquerel ;  "as  I  l)elieve 
in  my  own."  J5ut  although  his  church  at  Paris  lost  the 
government  support,  the  other  liberal  Protestant  churches 
of  France  receive  it ;  so  do  the  Jews,  who  are  certainly  not 
believers  in  the  doctrine  mentioned. 


I  ask  Victor  to  explain  the  Commune,  and  he  replies 
that  when  the  Republic  was  formed,  Sept.  4,  1870,  the 
Empress  Eugenie  and  the  other  Bonapartists  opened  the 
doors  of  the  prisons  and  allowed  the  criminals  to  escape, 
and  that  it  was  these  people,  joined  to  those  who  had  noth- 
ing to  lose  and  the  mechanics  who  had  no  work,  who 
established  the  Commune.  I  give  this  on  Victor's 
authority. 

I  tell  him  that  I  think  of  going  to  the  house  of  my 
American  friend,  with  whom  I  am  intimate,  and  telling 
her  that  I  have  come  to  dine  on  pot-luck.  He  says  that 
that  is  not  the  style  in  Paris;  that  a  certain  person  left 
word  that  he  was  coming  to  dine  with  him,  but  that  he 
himself  said  to  the  concierge,  "  Have  the  goodness  to  tell 
that  gentleman  when  he  comes  that  I  have  gone  to  Eng- 
land."    But  my  friend  receives  me  w^ith  much  hospitality. 


In  1795,  during  the  Revolution,  the  metrical  or  decimal 
system  was  intrcxluced  into  F* ranee.  It  was  confirmed  by 
a  special  law,  which  came  into  operation  in  1840,  under 
Louis  Philippe,  and  those  using  the  old  weights  and  meas- 
ures are  liable  to  prosecution.  They  have  riot  as  yet,  how- 
ever, entirely  disappeared.  In  Paris  I  saw  in  schools 
tables  and  models  to  illustrate  the  system,  which  hivs  now 
been  adopteil  in  other  countries,  and  seems  not  unlikely  to 


PARIS.  145 

spread  over  the  civilized  world.  Since  my  return  from 
France  I  liave  seen  the  chart  in  one  or  more  schools  in 
Ohio,  and  I  there  heard  mentioned  that  the  system  can  be, 
or  has  already  been,  introduced  into  school  treatises  on 
arithmetic.  Some  idea  of  the  elegance  of  French  compu- 
tation may  be  obtained  from  the  fact  that  in  the  centigrade 
thermometer  the  zero  is  the  freezing-point  of  water,  and 
one  hundred  degrees  is  the  boiling-point. 


I  am  told  that  all  the  administrations  in  France  are  lield 
by  the  men  who  occupied  them  under  the  Em])ire.  The 
emperor  or  president  appoints  his  ministers,  and  the  minis- 
ters appoint  to  inferior  offices.  Thus,  Mr.  Gr6ai*d,  who  is 
at  the  head  of  grammar  school  instruction  in  this  depart- 
ment,— or  that  of  the  Seine,  in  which  Paris  is  situated, — was 
appointed  by  the  minister  of  public  instruction.  He  holds 
his  office  at  the  will  of  the  minister,  but  it  is  very  rare  for 
the  office-holders  to  be  put  out :  it  is  the  fashion  to  keep 
them.  Of  course  the  eight  years  and  more  since  the  down- 
fall of  Napoleon  have  witnessed  some  changes  by  death, 
but  officers  like  judges  were  not  removed  on  his  downfall. 
The  minister  is  much  more  likely  to  be  changed  than  the 
subordinates. 

Although,  however,  I  have  just  spoken  of  having  been 
told  that  the  ministers  appoint  to  inferior  offices,  I  think 
that  they  do  not,  without  the  consent  of  the  general  gov- 
ernment. The  French  republic,  it  seems  to  me,  may  be 
compared  to  a  coat-of-mail  of  plate-armor, — cumbrous, 
rigid, — and  our  Federal  republic  to  a  coat  of  linked  or 
chain-armor, — pliable. 


146  FRENCH  AND  BELGIANS. 


CHAPTER    X. 

Wednesday,  June  5th. — When  I  meet  an  unknown  little 
one  ujion  the  street  who  smiles  at  me,  then  I  conclude  that 
she  is  a  pupil  in  one  of  the  schools  that  I  have  visited. 
To-day,  about  9.20, 1  arrive  at  another  asyle  or  infant  school, 
but  find  that  the  exercises  do  not  begin  until  ten ;  they 
continue  until  twelve,  when  the  children  breakfast,  and 
then  play  in  the  yard.  "  They  make  good  use  of  those 
moments,"  says  the  teacher  in  charge.  I  ask  her  the  dif- 
ference between  the  schools  under  the  care  of  the  clergy 
and  those  under  the  laity.  She  replies,  " Mon  Dieu  !  I 
don't  know;"  but  I  afterwards  understand  that  there  is  no 
difference  in  recitations.  She  says  that  there  are  parents 
who  do  not  wish  to  send  their  children  to  clerical  schools, 
and  some  who  do  not  wish  to  send  them  to  laic.  She 
thinks  that  the  poorer  class  send  them  to  the  Sisters  on  ac- 
count of  the  gifts.  This  teacher  is  a  substitute.  She  is 
filling  the  place  of  the  assistant,  who  is  taking  her  holiday. 
There  being  no  regular  holidays  in  the  infant  schools,  the 
teachers  are  allowed  a  month,  and  their  places  are  filled 
by  substitutes.  This  one  is  called  a  supplktnte;  she  is  of 
a  higher  grade  than  the  remplagant£.  Besides  the  two 
teachers,  there  is  a  hired  woman,  who  keeps  the  rooms  clean, 
takes  care  of  the  children's  breakfasts,  and  so  on,  and  re- 
ceives the  astonishing  salary  of  seven  hundred  francs,  or 
near  one  hundred  and  forty  dollars,  and  boards  herself. 
These  women  must  always  be  at  their  posts;  thus  she  is 
now  moving  constantly  among  the  children  while  they  are 


PARIS.  147 

gathering  for  school,  and  she  must  stay  until  the  last  are 
gone  or  towards  evening. 

The  principal  is  not  here  just  now,  and  while  the  chil- 
dren are  gathering  the  supply-teacher  is  seated  before  them, 
and  is  at  liberty  to  converse  with  me.  While  they  are 
coming  together  she  hisses  and  makes  a  noise  like  kissing 
to  preserve  order.  I  think  that  a  bell  would  be  better ; 
but  then  the  door-bell  is  ringing  at  intervals  for  a  child  to 
be  admitted.  The  principal  has  her  home  in  the  building, 
there  being  very  few  infant  or  grammar  schools  where  the 
principal  is  not  thus  lodged.  The  rent  is  the  teacher's  per- 
quisite, in  addition  to  her  salary.  Some  are  nicely  lodged, 
and  this  is  a  new  building ;  but  in  old  parts  of  the  city 
some  are  but  poorly  lodged.  There  are  generally  a  parlor, 
two  sleeping-rooms,  a  dining-room,  a  kitchen,  and  a  cabinet. 
What  the  principal  has  here  would  cost  her  to  hire  twelve 
hundred  francs,  because  this  is  an  expensive  quarter;  but 
the  allowance  to  those  who  are  not  lodged  is  only  six  hun- 
dred francs.  The  salary  of  the  principal  l)egins  at  sixteen 
hundred  francs  and  increases  to  two  thousand,  a  proportion 
being  always  deducted  towards  her  retreat  or  pension.  The 
pension  always  amounts  to  one-half  of  the  highest  sal- 
ary; which  in  her  case  being  two  thousand  francs,  the  pen- 
sion will  be  one  thousand, — about  two  hundred  dollars.  The 
assistant  teacher,  now  absent,  begins  at  twelve  hundred 
francs,  and  increases  to  sixteen  hundred, — the  supply- 
teacher,  here  present,  receives  a  salary  of  six  hundred 
francs,  and  three  francs  a  day  while  employed.  She,  too, 
must  give  up  five  per  cent,  or  more  towards  her  pension. 
The  remplagante,  which  is  a  still  lower  grade,  receives 
nothing  but  three  francs  a  day  when  employed.  To  pass 
a  few  moments  to  the  head-teacher  of  one  of  the  girls' 
grammar   schools,  Miss  Fleutet  lately  told  me  that  her 


148  FRENCH  AND  BELGIANS. 

salary  begins  at  two  thousand  francs,  and,  to  give  with 
strict  correctness  the  amount  reserved  for  the  pension  during 
the  first  three  years,  it  is  one-twelfth  the  first  year  and  one- 
twentieth  for  the  other  two.  After  the  end  of  these  three 
years  her  salary  is  raised  to  two  thousjind  three  hundred 
francs,  one-twelfth  being  retained  the  first  year  and  one- 
twentieth  for  the  others,  as  before.  Two  thousand  nine 
hundred  francs,  or  near  six  hundred  dollars,  is,  I  think, 
the  amount  of  the  highest  salary  paid  to  a  principal  in  a 
girls'  grammar  school.  The  principal  of  a  boys'  grammar 
school  begins  with  two  thousand  two  hundred  francs  and 
rises  to  three  thousand  four  hundretl,  or  about  six  hundred 
and  eighty  dollars.  The  |)ension  is  received  at  fifty-five 
years  of  age,  and  after  twenty-five  years  of  service.  Assist- 
ants in  grammar  schools  who  are  not  lodged  in  the  school- 
building  (or  at  least  the  male  assistants)  also  receive  a 
moderate  indemnity  of  four  hundred  francs. 

To  return  to  the  infant  school  which  I  am  visiting:  when 
it  is  twenty  minutes  after  ten  the  principal  has  not  yet 
come.  The  supply-teacher  has  the  clapper,  of  which  I  have 
before  spoken ;  and  when  she  claps,  the  children  clap  too 
and  become  quite  quiet.  She  cannot  begin  to  instruct  them 
until  the  principal  comes.  One  little  fellow  enters,  crying 
and  kicking,  in  the  arms  of  the  serving-woman.  She  takes 
him  out  into  the  yard,  and  his  brother  is  sent  to  console 
him  because  his  mother  has  left  him.  Then  the  serving- 
woman  comes  in  with  a  cup  to  get  some  eauroiigie  from  his 
basket.  "  We  must  spoil  him  a  little," she  says.  JE(iu  roiu/ie 
is  wine  and  water.  I  see  in  the  next  room  the  crucifix  and 
the  image  of  Mary  beneath  it,  and  I  am  told  that  the  gov- 
ernment gives  them  both.  One  of  the  children  has  brought 
a  large  bunch  of  white  pinks  (if  I  may  say  so),  and  the  serv- 
ing-woman is  going  to  throw  away  part  of  the  flowers  from 


PARIS.  149 

tlie  shelf  where  tlie  image  of  Mary  stands,  and  put  up  fresh 
ones.  One  little  fellow  has  to  stand  by  the  stove,  with  his 
face  turned  towards  it,  because  he  has  bitten  some  one.  An- 
other must  stand  beside  the  teacher,  who  says  that  he  is 
intelligent,  but  turbulent.  Almost  all  this  time  we  are 
seated  at  some  distance,  facing  this  agitated  mass  of  French 
infantry  upon  their  low  seats.  One  little  bow-legged  fel- 
low toddles  in  with  his  brother;  he  looks  about  two  years 
old,  for  there  is  no  limit  in  age  downwards.  The  supply- 
teacher  brings  a  whistle,  and  when  she  whistles  there  is 
silence,  and  she  marches  the  boys  out  into  the  yard.  After 
the  boys  have  come  marching  in,  the  girls  go  out.  At 
about  a  quarter  before  eleven  the  principal  comes  :  she  says 
that  she  had  to  attend  to  things  for  the  school.  We  enter 
the  class-room.  The  ceilings  of  these  rooms  are  high  and 
the  furniture  is  neat.  Near  the  centre  of  the  outer  room, 
where  we  have  been  sitting,  is  a  large  circular  lavatory, 
containing  seven  white  basins  with  stopcocks  to  supply 
each  with  water.  In  this  inner  or  class-room,  which  we 
now  enter,  there  is  painted  on  every  little  desk  a  square, 
divided  into  ten  spaces  each  way.  The  children  come 
trooping  into  the  class-room  to  the  beating  of  the  clapper, 
and  begin  to  sing  quite  prettily.  They  chant  one  of  the 
arithmetical  tables.  On  the  same  side  of  the  room  as  the 
crucifix  and  the  statue  of  Mary  there  are  four  cards.  Two 
of  them  say,  "Do  unto  others  all  that  you  wish  others 
to  do  unto  you,  for  such  is  the  law"  (the  text  not  being 
marked).  The  other  two  say,  "A  new  commandment  I 
give  unto  you,  That  ye  love  one  another  as  I  have  loved 
you."  The  children  repeat  the  Lord's  Prayer  and  the 
"  Hail,  Mary !"  with  another  little  prayer,  and  sign  them- 
selves with  the  cross.  The  teacher  gives  them  a  little  ad- 
dress on  the  gifts  of  the  good  God  and  a  lesson  on  liquids. 


160  FRENCH  AND  BELGIANS. 

She  asks,  "  To  whom  is  Wednesday  consecrated  ?"  CJiU- 
drm.—"  To  St.  Joseph."  "  When  St.  Joseph  was  little," 
she  continues,  "he  did  not  play  in  his  class;  he  always 
paid  good  attention.  Children  who  talk  a  great  deal  do 
not  learn.  St.  Joseph  grew  up  in  wisdom ;  he  became  an 
excellent  workman,  that  every  one  wanted  to  employ,  and 
the  good  God  chose  him  to  be  the  nursing  father  of  the  infant 
Jesus  and  the  support  of  the  Virgin  Mary.  And  what  was 
his  trade  ?"  Children. — "  He  was  a  carpenter."  "  And," 
she  concludes,  "  we  must  try  to  act  like  iiim,  who  was  close 
to  God,  so  that  one  day  we  may  have  our  recompense  in 
heaven." 

In  questioning  the  scholars  I  observe  that  the  principal 
addresses  her  questions  principally  or  entirely  to  the  boys. 
I  tell  her  that  I  am  a  woman's-rights  woman ;  but  she 
says  that  the  girls  are  younger  or  only  lately  come  in;  or 
gives  some  other  excuse.  Besides  the  ten  times  ten  squares 
marked  upon  each  little  desk,  there  is  painted  on  every 
division  of  five  desks  the  French  meter  (about  one  yard 
and  three  inches).  I  speak  of  it,  and  the  principal  says 
that  it  is  the  manner  of  Froebel,  or  what  we  call  kinder- 
garten. Other  furniture  is  an  arithmeticon,  a  blackboard, 
and  a  little  cupboard  with  glass  doors  containing  measures 
to  illustrate  their  metrical  com|>end.  The  principal  con- 
tinues to  address  herself  too  much  to  the  boys.  Before 
they  close  they  have  this  prayer :  "  My  God,  from  whom  we 
have  all,  bless,  if  you  please,  the  food  that  we  are  going 
to  take,  and  grant  us  grace  to  be  very  good  and  very 
olxKlicnt."  Their  baskets  are  marked  with  their  names, 
for  France  is  exact.  I  ask  the  priiK'i|)al  whether  the 
children  mostly  bring  reddened  wafer.  She  answers,  "Yes; 
the  children  are  happy  (well  off)  in  this  quarter;  these  are 
mostly  the  children  of  domestics,  and  feed  in  their  era- 


PARIS.  151 

ployers'  houses."  (Her  hands  look  as  if  she  does  her  own 
work,  and  it  is  quite  probable  that  she  does, — ^at  least,  a  great 
part  of  it.) 

When  I  get  back  and  speak  to  Victor  of  what  I  have 
seen,  he  is  indignant  that  the  exercises  did  not  begin  at  the 
time  fixed,  and  wishes  to  report  the  matter;  but  this  I 
cannot  allow.  I  tell  him  that  what  is  wanted  is  that  the 
public  should  visit  the  public  schools. 

For  my  single  self,  I  think  that  I  shoukl  feel  liberal  in 
granting  playtime  to  poor  little  Parisians  shut  up,  as  it 
were,  in  cages ;  but  suppose  that  they  should  make  a  noise 
and  disturb  the  rich  people  in  this  quarter  ? 


I  inquire  of  Victor  for  whom  he  votes,  and  I  find  that 
he  does  not  vote  often.  All  men  vote  in  France,  but  not 
for  many  officers.  Victor  votes  for  members  of  the  mu- 
nicipal council  and  for  members  of  the  house  of  deputies. 
The  mayors  in  the  wards  of  Paris  are  appointed  by  the 
prefect  of  the  Seine. 

I  have  just  said  that  all  men  vote.  I  have  before  men- 
tioned that  a  criminal  loses  his  vote,  and  a  bankrupt.  To 
these,  if  I  remember  right,  Victor  adds  those  who  have 
been  several  times  convicted  of  drunkenness. 

But  to  return  to  the  first  point,  it  will  be  observed  that 
Victor  votes  for  two  classes  of  officers  only.  In  order  to 
institute  a  comparison,  I  inquire  for  whom  one  of  my 
Pennsylvania  friends  votes.  He  tells  me  the  following 
township  officers:  justice  of  peace,  judge  of  elections,  school 
directors,  overseer  of  the  poor,  superintendent  of  roads, 
and  constable.  He  also  names  the  following  county  offi- 
cers :  president  judge  and  two  associates,  sheriff,  treasurer, 
prothonotary,  recorder  of  deeds,  register  of  wills,  district 


152  FRENCH  AND  BELGIANS. 

attorney,  clerks  of  the  courts  of  common  pleas,  quarter 
sessions, and  orphans;  county  commissioners  and  auditors.* 
He  votes  for  the  following  State  officers:  governor,  lieu- 
tenant-governor, supreme  judges,  auditor-general,  treasurer, 
secretary  of  internal  affiiirs,  and  superintendent  of  public 
schools,  and,  though  last  not  least,  members  of  the  State 
Legislature  in  both  houses.  As  regards  the  general  or 
United  States  government,  he  votes  for  electors  for  the 
Presidency  and  for  members  of  the  lower  house  of  Con- 
gress. 

Let  us  complete  tlie  comparison.  Victor  votes  for  two 
classes  of  officers;  the  Pennsylvanian  for  about  thirty. 
France  is  a  republic;  but  truly  there  are  republics  mul 
republics.f 

From  a  physician  whom  I  have  met  in  Paris,  who  ap- 
peared interested  in  the  laboring-classes,  I  have  hoped  for 
information,  and  to-day  I  call  upon  him.  Dr. re- 
ceives me  in  gray  drawers  and  long  gray  woollen  dressing- 
gown,  ajwlogizing  for  not  being  dressed.  His  office  and 
reception-room  are  upon  the  ground-floor,  and  he  takes  me 
up-stairs  to  see  his  salon,  the  partitions  of  which  are  painted 
white  and  carved  and  gilded.  He  has  quite  a  nice  little 
garden ;  he  lives  in  what  was  formerly  a  suburb.  In  the 
reception-room  is  a  picture  of  the  tomb  of  Marat.  The 
doctor  tells  me  that  he  knew  Marat's  sister,  and  that  she 
would  not  give  up  licr  brother's  works,  although  a  large 
reward  was  offered  for  them  in  order  to  destroy  them.     I 

*  The  new  conBtitution  of  Pennsylvania  requires  only  two  judges, 
instead  of  three,  in  large  counties,  or,  more  properly,  in  judicial 
districts. 

fin  the  rural  diHtricts  Frenchmen  vote  for  two  classes  of  eonseil- 
lera,  betides  member*  of  the  house  of  deputies. 


PARIS.  153 

also  hear  from  Victor  that  the  doctor  knew  Louis  Napoleon 
before  his  accession  to  power,  having  acted  as  his  physician 
in  his  days  of  obscurity;  and  his  knowledge  of  him  at 
that  time  was  not  highly  flattering.  Nevertheless,  when  I 
speak  with  the  doctor  about  the  late  emperor  (who  built 
St.  Augustine's  church),  the  doctor  thinks  he  believed  in 
the  doctrines  of  the  Church.  To  return  to  the  doctor's 
liouse:  when  we  go  into  the  office  we  find  a  poor-looking 
man,  whom  the  doctor  introduces  as  a  philosopher  who  has 
made  discoveries  in  colors.  I  am  conscious  of  not  receiving 
him  in  a  very  genial  manner;  I  am  thinking  more  of  my 
own  researches  than  of  his.  Afterwards,  when  the  doctor 
calls  at  Leblanc's,  we  enter  into  conversation,  and  he  an- 
ticipates 'the  time  when  men  shall  be  sufficiently  enlight- 
ened to  meet  and  discuss  their  religious  opinions  in  order 
to  discover  the  truth  or  to  come  to  some  conclusion ;  but 
Europe,  he  says,  is  not  yet  prepared  for  this,  and  of  course 
not  the  rest  of  the  world,  thus  (iasting  us  into  the  shade, 
which  surprises  me.  He  seems  to  think  the  many  sects  or 
divisions  of  Protestants  a  proof  that  we  are  not  in  the  right 
way.  He  himself  holds  to  the  first  clause  of  the  Creed : 
"  I  believe  in  one  God."  He  tells  us  the  following  anec- 
dote :  There  was  once  a  king  of  France  who  desired  that 
the  advocates  of  different  religious  faiths  should  come  be- 
fore him  to  explain  or  discuss  their  sentiments ;  and  when 
they  were  convened,  a  Jew  rose  to  speak.  But  before  he 
began,  a  churchman  said  to  him,  "Do  you  believe  in  the 
Holy  Virgin  ?"  "  We  look  for  a  Messiah  yet  to  come," 
replied  the  Jew;  "how,  then,  can  I  believe  in  the  Holy 
Virgin  ?"  Then  an  archer  or  man-at-arms  stepped  forth 
and  killed  the  Jew  of  his  own  will ;  but  the  king  thought 
he  had  done  rigiit.  This  little  story  of  the  doctor's  first 
gives  me  an  idea  of  the  importance  that  Jews  have  here 


154  FRENCH  AND  BELGIANS. 

in  comparison  with  Protestants.  As  to  tlie  subject  of  the 
condition  of  the  workingmen,  I  afterwards  receive  infor- 
mation from  another  source. 


Thursday,  June  6th. — Seeing  me  one  day  dressed  in  my 
new  silk,  Victor  is  pleased,  and  says  that  he  will  take  me 
to  A some  Sunday  to  see  a  gentleman  who  has  in- 
vented a  new  religion  (which  much  amuses  me).  Madame 
tells  me  that  Mr.  F.  made  this  new  religion,  which  is 
called  the  laic.  Although  under  an  impression  that,  like 
the  poet,  a  religion  is  not  made,  yet  I  should  like  to 
go ;  but  Victor  is  so  much  occupied  that  we  never  tiike 
the  little  journey.  On  a  recent  occasion,  when  he  was 
declaiming  against  religion,  and  saying  that  there  is  no 
prot)f  to  the  reason  of  the  existence  of  God,  I  took  the 
lilKjrty  of  ridiculing  him  a  little.  I  told  him  of  the  ex- 
pression on  the  card  at  the  infant  school,  "  A  new  com- 
mandment I  give  unto  you,  That  ye  love  one  another  as  I 
have  loved  you ;"  and  wlien  he  found  that  there  was  no 
reference  to  any  text  in  the  Bible, — or,  perhaps,  to  si)eak 
more  correctly,  when  he  found  that  the  precept  stood  upon 
its  own  merits,  without  any  reference  to  authority, — he  was 
silent.  At  one  of  the  stands  near  tiie  Exposition  I  got  a 
French  Testament  for  Victor.  The  jrassage  that  seemed 
most  appropriate  to  read  to  iiim  and  to  Mr.  Carpentier  was 
Paul's  eulogy  of  charity,  which  word,  in  the  German  ver- 
sion, is  love: — Love  snfiereth  long  and  is  kind;  love  en- 
vieth  not;  love  vaunteth  not  itself,  is  not  puffed  up; 
l)eareth  all  things,  ho|)eth  all  things,  endureth  all  things. — 
Love  never  faileth. 

I  have  before  sj^ken  of  the  many  decorations  that  are 


PARIS.  155 

worn  in  France.  Such,  I  suppose,  are  considered  contrary 
to  the  spirit  of  our  republican  institutions.  Even  our 
school-children  appear  long  ago  to  have  ceased  to  wear  the 
medal.  On  one  occasion,  at  the  Exposition  at  Paris,  I 
observed  one  of  my  countrymen  with  a  ribbon  in  his  but- 
tonhole, connected  with  a  decoration  given  to  him  by  the 
Austrian  emperor  at  Vienna,  but  I  believe  the  gentleman 
soon  gave  up  the  little  ribbon.  In  the  commissioner's  room 
in  our  department  at  the  Exposition  hung  })ictures  of 
Sherman  and  Sheridan  with  decorations,  but  these,  I  am 
told,  are  army-badges.  A  friend  in  Paris  says  that  Mr. 
Birney,  our  minister  to  Belgium,  when  invited  to  dine 
wears  a  rose;  this,  of  course,  breaks  the  contrast  between 
liis  plain  black  coat  and  the  decorated  ones.  Nevertheless, 
as  I  hear  while  writing  this  volume  how  the  love  of  titles 
is  rampant  in  Nebraska,  so  that  even  a  plain  lawyer  is 
addressed  as  the  Honorable  Mr.  Holmes,  who  knows  but 
we  may  come  to  decorations  yet  ? 


Fi'iday,  June  7th. — The  normal  school  on  the  Boulevard 
des  Batignolles,  of  which  I  have  before  made  mention,  is 
the  only  school  of  the  kind  for  girls  in  this  populous  de- 
])artment  of  the  Seine.  Yet  as  it  is  organized  it  is  suf- 
ficiently large,  as  will  hereafter  be  observed.  I  have  before 
visited  a  private  normal  school  for  girls,  where  I  was 
told  that  in  France  no  one  can  teach  without  a  diploma. 
(We  must,  however,  except  the  clergy,  as  a  letter  from  a 
superior  sometimes,  if  not  always,  answers  in  the  place  of 
the  certificate.)  Twice  a  year  the  state  has  examinations, 
even  of  those  who  intend  to  teach  private  schools.  Almost 
all  young  women  who  receive  a  solid  education  now  pass 
through  this  examination,  as  the  daughter  of  one  of  the 


156  FRESCU  AND  BELGIANS. 

Rothschilds,  and  a  quantity  of  others.  It  is  quite  the 
fashion  to  receive  a  diploma.  The  last  examination  con- 
tinued two  or  three  months,  and  there  were  twelve  hundred 
female  applicants.  She  who  tells  me  this  is  a  teacher; 
doubtless  a  fashionable  young  lady  would  not  be  equally 
enthusiastic.  But  to  return  to  the  public  normal  school  for 
girls,  which  is  entirely  gratuitous :  I  am  received  by  an 
agreeable  young  lady.  Miss  S.,  who  is  general  su{)erin- 
tendent,  for  I  do  not  meet  the  principal  upon  any  of  my 
visits.  At  present  there  are  sixty-four  scholars,  who  are 
obliged,  in  return  for  their  board  and  education  during 
three  years,  to  hold  themselves  in  readiness  to  teach  at 
any  time  during  ten  years  in  this  department  of  the 
Seine,  and  not  to  enter  into  any  other  business  during  that 
time. 

I  have  just  mentioned  the  department  of  the  Seine. 
France  is  divided  into  about  eighty  departments.  This  of 
the  Seine  is  a  very  small  one  in  size,  but,  as  it  conttiins 
Paris,  it  is  very  populous  and  very  important.  When  this 
normal  school  is  full  it  has  seventy-five  pupils;  now,  as  I 
have  said,  tiiere  are  but  sixty-four.  At  present  there  are  no 
Protestant  scholars,  although  all  religious  sects  are  admitted. 
All  are  not  obliged  to  receive  Catholic  instruction,  but  all 
must  pass  an  examination  in  religion  Ixjfore  receiving  the 
diploma,  the  Protestants  being  instructetl  by  a  Protestant 
minister,  the  Jews  by  a  rabbi.  (One  of  my  acquaintances 
in  Paris,  a  young  man,  failed  to  receive  the  certificate  or 
diploma  because  he  did  not  answer  a  question  concerning 
the  voyages  of  Paul.) 

Miss  S.,  the  young  and  agreeable  superintendent,  shows 
me  a  \xmk  which  proves  to  be  of  much  interest  to  me.  It 
is  com|H)sitions  of  American  scholars,  sent  to  our  Centen- 
nial ExjKwition,  brought  thence  to  France,  translated  and 


PARIS.  157 

published  by  Mr.  Biiisson,  wlio  was,  I  bdieve,  at  tlie  liead 
of  their  educational  commission  at  Philadelphia.  Miss  S. 
thought  it  remarkable  to  find  in  this  book  of  exercises,  so 
much  expression  upon  religious  subjects.  She  also  finds  in 
one  little  essay,  ideas  which  she  would  not  iiave  expected 
from  the  age  of  the  writer, — siich  as,  "  The  times  that  tried 
men's  souls ;"  but  I  reply  that  such  are  some  of  our  by- 
words, and  that,  instead  of  being  a  proof  of  elevation  of 
ideas,  they  are  rather  a  proof  of  poverty.  This  volume  is 
presented  to  me  by  Miss  S.,  and  I  take  it  to  the  Xorth  of 
France  and  into  Belgium,  lending  or  showing  it  to  differ- 
ent persons,  and  at  last  send  it  to  a  young  man  in  the  centre 
of  France. 

Miss  S.  accompanies  me  into  the  room  where  Miss  Mas- 
son  is  giving  a  lesson  in  geography,  partly  upon  Indo- 
China;  and  one  of  the  pupils  is  drawing  a  map  of  the 
country,  apparently  from  memory,  upon  the  blackboard. 
Miss  Masson  accom{)anies  the  le&son  with  remarks  on  the 
manner  of  teaching.  In  this  room  are  four  charts  of 
France, — magnificent  ones,  of  different  sizes.  There  are  also 
one  of  Paris  and  its  environs,  one  of  the  department  of  the 
Seine,  and  one  of  Europe ;  but  no  map  of  the  world  is  to 
be  seen.  Were  it  not  for  Palestine  and  the  French  col- 
onies, might  they  not  say,  "  Europe  is  world  enough  for 
me"?  As  regards  history,  the  pupils  are  instructed  in  that 
of  France,  of  Greece  and  Koine,  and  of  the  East.  They 
are  not  instructed  in  the  history  of  any  country  of  modern 
times,  except  as  such  history  is  connecte<I  with  that  of  their 
own  country.  This  seems  like  an  example  of  how  not  to 
do  it ;  but  perhaps  it  belongs  to  the  same  class  of  ideas  as 
teaching  our  young  men  Greek  and  Latin,  instead  of  the 
modern  languages.  The  instruction  in  French  history  is 
very  minute;  one  of  the  pupils  is  called  upon,  and,  taking 


168  FRENCH  AND  BELGIANS. 

the  teacher's  place,  gives  a  little  recitation  or  lecture  on  the 
subject.  But  the  most  remarkable  statement  concerning 
this  visit  of  mine  is  yet  to  come.  I  learn  that  these  young 
Avomen,  who  are  to  be  teachers  in  Paris  and  its  vicinity, 
cease  to  study  the  history  of  their  own  country  at  the 
year  1815. 

With  one  of  the  persons  in  authority  in  this  school  I 
have  an  agreeable,  though  not  a  long,  conversation  upon 
the  co-education  of  the  sexes,  so  common  in  many  of  our 
States  in  schools  of  this  grade;  but  she  remarks  that 
Frenchmen  are  too  warm, — irop  chauds;  they  are  not  like 
the  English;  and  she  thinks  that  there  might  be  difficul- 
ties in  practising  it  hel*e.  But  if  such  is  the  disposition  of 
Frenchmen,  how  does  it  happen  that  there  are  in  France, 
as  reported,  eighteen  thousand  men  who  have  taken  the 
vows  of  poverty,  chastity,  and  ol)edience  ?  Eighteen  thou- 
sand men  belonging  to  the  religious  orders,  besides  the 
great  mass  of  secular  clergy,  also  unmarried  ! 

Before  I  leave  the  normal  school  Miss  S.  shows  me  a 
dormitory, — one  great  room  with  many  beds,  and  a  fine 
wash-room  attached.  Towards  the  centre  of  the  sleeping- 
room  is  an  oblong,  encurtained  space  for  the  teacher.  I 
find  a  disadvantage  in  a  public  wash-room  for  so  many 
young  women.  In  the  great  normal  school  at  Millersville, 
in  my  own  State,  only  two  pupils  sleep  in  a  room,  and  here 
can  have  water  and  other  requisites  for  the  toilet.  But 
this  latter  school  is  not  gratuitous. 


I  see  a  handbill  poste<l  which  offers  the  following  in- 
ducements for  Sunday,  June  9,  Pentecost-day,  or,  as  we 
Bay,  Whitsunday:  "Communal  festival  of  Nanterre.  At 
two  o'clock  very  precisely  the  ceremony  of  crowning  a 


PARIS.  159 

winner  of  the  rose."  (This  is  a  prize  of  virtue.)  The 
ceremony  is  to  be  held  in  the  church  of  Nanterre,  with  the 
assistance  of  the  communal  band.  "Brilliant  illumina- 
tions by  Madame  Widow  Gaudry,  getter-up  of  public  fes- 
tivals. Great  ball,  Lemaistre  the  son."  These  are  part 
of  the  inducements  oifered  to  citizens  of  Paris  to  go  to 
Nanterre  in  balmy  June.  If  you  prefer  Sunday  the  16th, 
you  may  have  at  ten  in  the  morning  the  solemn  annual 
mass  of  the  mutual  aid  society  of  St.  Genevieve,  and  in  the 
afternoon  an  instrumental  concert,  divers  games  for  young 
men  and  young  ladies,  and  a  grand  ball. 

Another  liandbill  informs  us  that  on  Sunday,  June  9, 
Father  Hyacinth  Loison  will  speak  upon  the  harmony  of 
Christianity  and  civilization.  First-class  ticket,  three 
francs ;  at  the  office,  two  francs. 


My  cobbler  tells  me  that  the  bacon  of  America  can  be 
bought  at  twelve  sous  the  Fjench  pound,  while  the  French 
is  selling  at  twenty-six  sous.  He  says  that  our  leather  is 
not  so  good  as  theirs ;  it  is  cheajjer,  but  they  do  not  use  it 
at  Paris. 

Victor  has  an  herb-box, — quite  a  handsome  one,  like  a 
work-box  with  divisions, — which,  he  says,  contains  all  those 
things  good  for  the  health  ;  which  are  marsh-mallow  root, 
chamomile,  tails  of  cherries,  tails  of  gooseberries,  mallow 
blossoms,  marsh-mallow  blossoms,  dog's  grass,  linden,  vio- 
lets, and  orange  leaves.  Tails  of  cherries  of  course  are 
stems.  They  talk  much  about  tiiils  at  Paris,  as  the  tail  of 
the  saucepan,  and  they  form  themselves  into  a  tail  when  a 
crowd  wishes  to  enter  a  public  place. 

Victor  tells  me  that  if  I  sleep  with  my  window  open,  the 


160  FRENCH  AND  BELGIANS. 

bats  will  come  in  and  pick  my  eyas.     I  should  have  an- 
swered that  1  would  sleep  with  them  shut. 

Madame  Leblanc  shows  me  a  very  elegant  silk,  of  a  very 
handsome  color,  a  sort  of  pearl,  or  about  that  of  the  garden 
flower-de-luce.  It  is  trimmed  with  lace,  and  cost  when 
made  over  one  hundred  dollars.  (It  will  be  remembered 
that  silks  of  the  same  quality  are  cheaper  in  France;  on 
board  ship  I  hear  that  the  duty  on  silks  brought  into  our 
country  is  sixty  per  cent.)  This  was  madaine's  wedding- 
dress,  which  she  wore  to  the  mayor's  office.  She  thinks  that 
there  were  two  hundred  persons  to  see  them  married,  and 
then  the  wedded  pair  went  to  Mr.  Carpentier's  to  dinner. 
She  adds  that  Mr.  Carpentier  was  Victor's  witness,  and  the 
fourth  person  at  the  dinner  was  her  witness.  They  were 
married  at  the  mayor's  only.  It  will  be  remembered  that 
the  marriage  at  the  mayor's  office  is  the  only  legal  one ;  but 
it  is  the  correct  thing  in  the  eyes  of  the  world  to  be  married 
at  church  also.  Victor  complains  to  me  of  one  of  his 
acquaintances,  who  had  told  him  that  he  would  not  be  mar- 
ried religiously,  and  then  was  thus  married. 


I  do  not  remember  any  Frenchman  intereste<l  in  phre- 
nology, even  when  applied  only  to  the  division  between  the 
perceptive  and  reflective  organs.  Among  the  pei*sons  who 
were  at  Victor's  home  during  my  stay  in  Paris  was  a  young 
student  of  metlicine,  who  seemed  to  me  to  have  the  organ 
of  hxjality  remarkably  developed.  He  admitted  that  he 
could  readily  find  places,  but  he  and  Victor  asked  me 
whether  I  believed  in  palmistry  or  in  metempsychosis.  I 
find  French  heads  almost  univei'sally  developed  in  the  per- 
ceptives  or  the  lower  part  of  the  forehead,  and  1  wonder 
whether  this  gives  tiiem  their  admirable  power  of  arrange- 


PABIS.  161 

ment.  I  see  very,  very  few  top-heavy  foreheads  here. 
They  have  some  men  of  very  fine  appearance.  As  regards 
phrenology,  however,  I  meet  at  the  house  of  a  friend  an 
Italian  gentleman,  who  is  quite  a  contrast  to  these  French- 
men in  his  interest  in  the  subject. 


Several  times  I  have  seen  the  poor  little  old  man  with 
crooked  legs,  blue  blouse,  and  brass  badge  on  the  arm  who 
has  charge  of  the  third  omnibus -horse,  which  is  put  on  in 
mounting  the  incline  of  our  street.  Though  the  little  man 
plods  up,  yet  he  can  ride  down.  One  morning  I  notice 
a  wagon  going  up  the  same  incline,  holding  three  people 
returning  from  market  with  their  baskets, — the  middle 
one  a  solid  brown  peasant-woman, — the  whole  drawn  by 
a  persevering  little  beast  of  a  donkey,  who  plods  on  as  if 
it  is  the  right  thing.  He  is  going  home,  and  perhaps  the 
load  is  lighter  than  in  coming.  The  same  day  I  observe 
three  donkeys  going  up  the  street  followed  by  a  boy,  part 
of  them,  or  all,  having  bells  on  their  necks;  lately,  too,  I 
saw  some  who  seemed  to  be  going  home  alone.  One  of  my 
friends  tells  me  that  she  sees  half  a  dozen  a  day;  that  they 
are  taken  to  houses  and  milked  into  a  bowl,  and  then  sick 
people  drink  the  milk  warm. 


CHAPTER    XI. 


Saturday,  June  Sth. — I  have  often  met  Madame  Latour, 
and  she  has  kindly  invited  me  to  visit  her  to-day.  She  is 
a  widow  without  children,  and  has  a  tiny  apartment  or  set 
of  rooms  looking   out   upon  a  square;   she  is   delighted 


162  FRENCH  AND  BELGIANS. 

with  its  greenness.  There  are  a  dining-room  about  eight 
feet  by  nine,  a  bedroom,  dressing-room,  and  a  bit  of  a 
kitchen,  her  rent  being  four  hundred  and  fifty  francs. 
Until  seventeen,  she  tells  me,  she  was  a  Catholic,  but  since 
that  age  she  does  not  go  to  the  confessional. 

My  invitation  is  first  to  breakfast,  where  we  have  a  stew 
composed  of  pigeons  and  green  peas,  with  a  little  onion; 
we  have,  too,  excellent  bread  and  the  ordinary  wine.  The 
next  course  is  a  veal  cutlet  beautifully  cooked  in  a  sauce- 
pan with  its  own  juice  and  a  little  butter.  With  this 
madame  opens  a  bottle  of  Chambertin  put  up  in  1870,  and 
I  remember  Tom  Moore's  speaking  of  this  wine, — 

"  Cbambortin,  which  you  know's  the  pet  tipple  of  Nap." 

Our  next  course  is  cold  asparagus  with  oil  and  vinegar, 
and  afterwards  we  have  strawberries  and  biscuits  or  little 
sponge-cakes ;  then  very  strong  coffee,  and  my  friend  gives 
me  to  add  to  it  some  milk  just  boiled.  Hers  is  a  dear  little 
baby-house  of  an  apartment ;  she  keeps  uo  servant,  and 
she  tells  me  that  she  is  crazy  on  the  subject  of  order, — ma- 
niaqiLe  d^ordre.  I  ask  her  how  the  bread  of  Paris  is 
kneaded ;  for  I  have  as  yet  met  no  one  who  bakes  her  own. 
She  ventures  to  answer,  "  With  the  hands."  I  mention  an 
anecdote  that  I  have  heard  of  a  man's  being  employed  in 
my  own  country  to  tread  the  dough  for  a  cracker-baker ;  and 
Madame  I^tour  tells  me  that  when  they  are  making  wine 
a  naked  man  gets  into  the  vat  and  treads  the  grapes,  and 
will  be  discolored  to  his  shoulders,  but  she  adds  that  the 
wine  purifies  itself. 

In  madame's  dressing-closet  I  see  a  low,  broad  zinc  tub 
or  pan  in  which  she  stands  to  take  her  daily  sponge-bath. 
When  Mr.  Car|>entier  formerly  told  Lenoir,  the  wine-man 
with  whom  I  lodged,  timt  all  the  people  in  England  and 


PARIS.  163 

America  were  accustomed  to  wash  themselves  every  day,  or 
to  take  a  bath,  he  made  a  very  broad  statement ;  but  even 
if  it  were  correct,  it  now  seems  that  tliey  are  not  alone  in 
the  custom.  Madame  Latour's  husband  was  a  travelling 
salesman,  and  afterwards  a  manufacturer  or  machine-maker. 
He  was  twenty-two  years  older  than  herself.  Both  had 
made  wills,  leaving  the  property  of  each  to  the  other.  He 
was  a  Fourierite;  and  from  him  madame  learned  daily 
bathing.  A  likeness  of  Fourier  seated  is  in  one  of  the 
rooms ;  it  is  thoughtful,  sad,  benevolent.  We  can  at  least 
give  him  credit  for  having  wished  to  banish  want,  so  that 
no  one  should  suffer  from  insufficient  food  and  clothing. 

After  breakfast  madame  with  much  ])oliteness  accom- 
panies me  to  P6re  la  Chaise,  but,  as  the  afternoon  is  some- 
what rainy,  I  have  not  a  very  good  opportunity  of  seeing 
the  celebrated  cemetery.  I  remark  the  monument  to  Ras- 
pail,  quite  covered  with  crowns.  Above  it-  is  a  shield, 
inscribed  "  The  workingmen's  associations  of  Paris."  There 
is,  too,  a  large  decoration  by  the  democracy  of  the  13th 
arrondissement,  or  ward.  Below  is  a  monstrous  crown, 
covered  with  immortelles,  from  the  democracy  of  Ivry. 
These  immortelles  resemble  the  life-everlasting,  or  Gnapha- 
lium,  that  I  used  to  see  growing  on  the  hills  of  Massachu- 
setts ;  but  those  were  mostly  white,  and  these  are  yellow. 
In  speaking  of  Kaspail,  Madame  Latour  says  that  his  in- 
terment was  civil,  not  in  any  church  ;  he  was  a  free-thinker. 
She  adds  that  he  jiassed  part  of  his  life  in  prison.  (Some 
account  of  him  can  be  found  in  Appletons'  "Cyclopaedia.") 
We  also  see  the  tomb  of  Ledru-Rollin,  which  is  much 
decorated,  and  bears  a  little  engraving  or  ornament  stating 
that  he  was  the  author  of  universal  suffrage.  We  pass  the 
great  tomb  of  Abelard  and  H6loise,  but  it  is  undergoing 
repair,  and  I  do  not  see  the  recumbent  figures.     Madame 


164  FRENCH  AND  BELGIANS. 

asks  whether  I  know  their  story.     I  ilo ;  so  it  docs  not 
have  to  be  repeated.     I  ask  myself  afterwards  whether  the 
remarkable  story  of  these  lovers  gave  the  French  a  turn 
against  female  education.     I  presume,  however,  that  the 
Salic  law  is  older.     The  inscription  uj)on  the  tomb  of  Al- 
fred de  Musset — the  lines  from  one  of  his  poems,  asking  his 
friends  to  j)lant  a  willow — is  very  j)retty ;  but  what  a  forlorn 
little  willow,  looking  like  a  peach-tree  with  the  yellows! 
But  generally  the  care  of  trees  upon  the  streets  of  Paris  is 
admirable,  wonderful ;  jwssibly  there  is  some  difficulty  in 
this  especial  case.     I  cannot  see  the  tomb  of  Rachel,  the 
great  actress,  as  this  is  Saturday,  and  the  Jewish  part  of  the 
cemetery  is  closed.     I  do  see  a  monument  raised  over  the 
child  of  a  man  I  once  knew  at  home.     It  is  to  a  child  of 
Pierce  Butler  and  Frances  Anne  Kemble.     At  Pdre  la 
Chaise  the  lots  are  small  and  nearly  filled  with  the  monu- 
ments, instead  of  being  grassy  and  flowery  like  ours,  but 
the  ground  is  not  entirely  divided  into  lots.     The  wreaths 
of  immortelles  have  often  suifered  from  the  weather,  show- 
ing stains  or  discoloration,  and,  where  shelteretl,  some  of 
the  flowers  have  fallen  off.     Thus,  in  Mr.  Thiers'  monu- 
ment they  have  fallen  from  the  top  of  an  immense  wrejith, 
showing  the  great  foundation  of  straw  Iwlow.     Some  enter- 
prising Frenchman  appears  to  have  discovered  (enterprising, 
like  him  who  invented  universiU  suffrage)  that  more  durable 
wreatiis  mn  Ihj  made  from  metal  and  colored  to  imitate  life. 
Upon  some  of  the  monuments  little  sheet-iron  protections 
for  wreaths  have  been  put  up.     We  see  a  man  standing 
within  one  of  the  little  monumental  houses,  standing  low  and 
at  work  at  the  stone  floor.     I  inquire  whether  an  interment 
is  to  take  place.     As  he  stands  in  the  aperture  prwluced 
by  the  absence  of  one  of  the  flooring-stones,  he  answers  that 
one  has  taken  place:  see  the  wreaths;  and  there  they  are  on 


PARIS.  165 

the  next  monument  close  by  us,  (so  crowded  are  these  tombs), 
the  beautiful  flowers;  the  great  wreath  of  deep-blue  violets 
or  pansies,  with  a  little  white  introduced;  the  beautiful 
white  flowers  in  a  paper  sheath  and  other  offerings.  Florists 
abide  in  this  region;  and  after  leaving,  we  meet  upon  the 
street  one  of  the  working-women  of  Paris,  carrying  a  load 
of  little  straw  wreaths,  which  doubtless  are  to  be  covered 
with  immortelles.  A  funeral  procession  comes  up;  Madame 
Latour  thinks  it  to  be  second-class.  The  liQrses  wear  robes 
nearly  to  the  ground — black  robes  ornamented  with  silver — 
and  have  great  black  plumes  towering  above  their  ears. 
The  mourning-coaches  are  covered  with  black  cloth,  and  all 
is  brought  into  precision  by  this  precise  people.  When  at 
the  mayor's  office,  I  saw  upon  a  door  a  large  sign,  "  Funeral 
pomps."  The  city  owns  the  funeral  pomps,  and  lets  them 
out  at  different  sums,  there  being  a  good  many  different 
classes.  It  is  stated  that  of  what  the  city  receives,  it  pays  a 
high  tax  or  proportion  to  the  clergy.  Within  Pfere  la  Chaise 
many  tombs  are  marked  In  perpetuity,  which  reminds  one 
that  in  many  cases  the  ground  is  only  rente<l  for  a  number 
of  years ;  then,  of  course,  the  bodies  must  be  taken  up,  and 
there  is  not  much  that  is  solemn  or  poetical  in  the  thought. 
After  leaving  the  celebrated  cemetery  I  return  to  dine 
with  Madame  Latour,  and  in  the  evening  we  go  together 
to  a  lecture. 

3Ionday,  June  10th. — Victor  has  holiday,  this  being 
Pentecost  or  Whitmonday;  also  the  bank  is  closed. 

The  fruiterer's  boy  brings  up  our  milk,  but  he  was  late 
yesterday  morning.  At  present  he  is  in  the  shade.  Victor 
says  that  he  had  spilt  milk  upon  the  waxed  staircase,  and 
had  spit  upon  it;  and  when  the  concierge  scolded  him,  he 
replied,  "  There  is  no  moss  upon  the  flint  stones !"   By  which 

8* 


166  FRENCH  AND  BELGIANS. 

he  meant  to  taunt  the  concierge  like  the  boys  of  old  who 
said,  "  Go  to,  thou  bald-head  !"  Further,  when  the  con- 
cierge tried  to  catch  him  he  escapetl  between  the  concierge's 
legs;  so  lie  got  a  whipping  from  his  father  or  some  other 
in  authority. 

Victor  laughs,  and  tells  of  having  listened  at  night  to 
the  conversation  of  the  hack-drivers  and  others  with  their 
female  friends,  as  "  Francine,  how  much  money  hast  thou 
in  thy  purse  ?"  .Avith  a  view  to  marriage.  I  say  that  with 
us  it  is  the  man's  purse  that  is  in  question. 


Tuesday,  June  Wtli. — I  receive  a  compliment  to-day ,- 
small  one.  Asking  a  man  upon  the  street  where  I  can  buy 
stamps,  he  says,  "  Madame  is  from  my  country,  I  suppose, 
— from  Belgium  ?"  This  is  the  first  time  that  I  have  been 
taken  for  anything  but  born  to  speak  English. 

As  I  want  to  see  a  market,  I  make  an  appointment  with 
Victor  to  meet  him  this  afternoon  and  visit  that  near  the 
Madeleine,  but  do  not  find  anything  especially  remarkable, 
unless  it  be  his  jokes  with  the  people  he  has  known  so  long. 
On  the  street  he  asks  me  (probably  having  noticed  a  sign), 
"  Do  you  love  pel-el  ?"  "  Is  it  something  to  eat  or  drink?" 
I  ask.  "To  drink;  English  pel-el."  Of  course  he  means 
pale  ale.  He  has  studied  our  language  a  little, — apparently, 
very  little. 

The  following  anecdote  I  admit,  as  indicative  of  habits 
of  thought.  Victor  and  I  have  been  speaking  of  Mr. 
Dupanloup,  bishop  of  Orleans,  and  member  of  the  liCgis- 
lative  Assembly.  Victor  does  not  like  me  to  call  him  by 
his  title  as  bishop,  monseiffneur,  or  my  lord  Dupanloup. 
He  tells  me  that  Mr.  Dupanloup  has  a  daughter;  our 
friend  Mr.  C.  said  so.     Meeting  the  latter,  who  is  ad- 


PARIS  ]  67 

vanced  in  years,  I  introduce  the  subject,  and  he  answers, 
"  How !  he  has  had  a  daughter !  he  has  done  worse  things 
than  that:  he  has  calumniated  people."  I  suppose  him  to 
refer  to  what  Mr.  Dupanloup  has  said  in  a  recent  letter 
addressed  to  Victor  Hugo,  or  in  a  controversy  on  account 
of  the  great  novelist's  part  in  celebrating  the  late  centenary 
of  Voltaire.  It  will  be  remembered  that  the  volume  of 
selections  from  Voltaire's  works  published  on  this  occa- 
sion contains  his  attack  on  the  Christian  religion. 

The  following  anecdote  may  also  illustrate  Paris  ways  of 
thought  and  life.  Mr.  C.  tells  us  lately  that  when  his  sons 
were  about  twelve  years  old,  the  bonne,  or  woman-servant, 
could  not  conveniently,  at  all  times,  attend  them  to  school ; 
and  so  he  spoke  to  them  about  public  women,  putting  them 
on  their  guard  against  them. 


The  circular  railway  round  Paris,  by  which  I  sometimes 
return  from  the  Exposition,  has  seats  on  top  of  the  cars, 
from  which  we  have  an  admirable  opportunity  of  seeing 
the  very  neat  plots  of  the  market-gardeners  and  their  care 
in  cultivation.  What  quantities  of  hand-glasses  are  used 
to  cover  plants!  Observe  how  many  of  the  dwellings  have 
great  black  cauldrons  perched  up  high  or  attached  to  the 
house.  These  are  reservoirs  for  water,  to  be  rightly  tem- 
pered for  the  plants.  And  when  the  weather  becomes  some- 
what dry,  see  them  watering  with  a  hose, — not  allowing  the 
water  to  fall  heavily,  but  like  a  shower,  from  the  perforated 
end  upon  the  hose,  as  from  the  rose  of  a  watering-pot. 


Victor  says,  "We  are  French  Quakers,  we  free-thinkers." 
Perhaps  he  alludes  to  one  of  the  doctrines  of  a  society  in 


168  FRENCH  AND  BELGIANS. 

which  he  is  active,  namely,  "Tlie  autonomy  of  the  human 
imlividual,"  or  that  each  man  is  a  law  unto  himself;  which 
doctrine  is  in  strong  contrast  with  that  of  the  Romish 
Church. 


I  want  to  weigh  a  letter,  and  Victor  takes  down  his 
kitchen  standard  scales;  he  dusts  them,  and  they  balance 
very  nicely.  He  also  provinces  the  wooden  block  of  brass 
weights, — weights  with  a  knob.  There  are  twelve  of  these, 
beginning  with  two  of  one  gramme  each,  their  gramme 
equalling  alx)ut  one-twenty-ninth  of  an  ounce  avoirdupois; 
thence  they  run  up  to  the  half  kilogramme  or  French 
pound,  popularly  the  half  kilo,  which  is  about  one-tenth 
heavier  tijan  our  pound.  I  never  remember  to  have 
weighed  a  letter  before  upon  kitchen  scales.  In  some 
respects  these  are  a  very  accurate  people;  not  generally  so 
accurate  in  their  conversation,  however,  as  Pennsylvania 
Quakers.  I  never  knew  one  of  the  latter,  when  he  was  at 
work  in  the  barn,  to  leave  word  that  he  was  not  at  home ; 
nor  if  he  exjwcted  an  unpleasant  call  to  tell  some  one  to 
say  that  he  had  gone  to  New  York,  and  would  not  l)e  back 
for  a  week ;  nor  do  I  remember  a  Quaker  woman's  telling 
any  one  that  she  was  twenty-two,  when  a  legal  pajxir  stated 
that  she  was  twenty-seven.  Nevertheless,  there  are  excep- 
tions in  the  Society  of  Friends. 


Wedjieadayj  June  12th. — I  see  a  man  and  woman  tugging 
a  heavy  load  of  vegetables  up  the  Rue  de  Londres.  He 
lias  the  tongue  of  the  go  (uirt,  while  she  draws  by  a  ro|)c 
with  a  handle.  How  emphatically  is  woman  a  helpmeet 
iiere  I 


PARIS.  169 

I  meet  in  Paris  with  members  of  two  societie?, — one 
"The  International  League  of  Peace  and  Liberty,"  and  the 
other  "  The  Friends  of  Peace."  The  former  desires  peace 
on  the  foundation  of  liberty,  and  was  formed  at  Geneva 
in  1867.  It  sounds  rather  strange  to  an  American  to  hear 
the  members  thus  spoken  of,  as  I  do  one  day  in  Paris : 
"  Those  are  revolutionists,  who  met  at  Geneva  with  Gen- 
eral Guribaldi,  and  other  people  very  advanced  in  their 
republican  opinions."  I  find  them  remarkably  advanced 
for  Paris  on  the  question  of  the  equality  of  women.  I 
attended  several  lectures  given  by  the  league,  or  by  the 
French  branch,  and  there  were  always  women  on  the 
platform,  Julia  Ward  Howe,  of  Boston,  gives  one  of 
the  lectures  of  this  course;  and  I  may  here  add  that 
she  had  before  been  unable  to  obtain  the  use  of  the 
liberal  Protestant  church,  and  had  spoken  in  a  Free- 
masons' hall. 

The  society  of  Friends  of  Peace  has  female  members, 
but  I  learn  that  women  have  not  been  admitted  upon  the 
board  of  managers.  In  conversation  with  one  of  the  mem- 
bers of  this  society,  mention  was  made  of  a  Philadelphia 
society  of  the  kind,  which  proposed  to  hold  a  fair.  The 
gentleman  replied  that  they  do  not  propose  to  hold  a  fair 
for  their  society  ;  they  are  very  serious.  I  laugh  and  say> 
"You  are  not  gay,  animated,  sprightly."  What  sort  of  an 
idea  has  he  of  one  of  our  fairs? 

Since  my  return  from  Europe  I  have  received  news  of 
the  Congress  of  Peace  Societies,  which  met  in  Paris  after  I 
left;  thus,  "Great  progress  was  made  in  this  congress. 
AVomen  were  admitted  to  deliberate  and  to  vote  upon 
the  same  footing  as  men ;  before  this  no  European  peace 
society,  except  the  League  of  Peace  and  Liberty,  had 
allowed  women  to  vote  in  their  meetings." 


170  FRENCH  AND  BELGIANS. 

Thursday^  June  13<A. — This  morning  soldiers  are  march- 
ing out  with  martial  music  from  the  caseime^  the  great  stone 
l>arrack  near  St.  Augustine's  church.  These  are  not  the 
elegant  men  of  Paris  whom  I  admire;  they  are  young 
fellows  with  coarse,  broad  shoes.  Looking  at  them  with  a 
mother's  eye,  one  might  hope  that  France  would  remain  a 
republic  and  go  to  battle  no  more.  He  was  a  thinker — 
was  he  also,  in  some  measure,  a  republican  ? — who  said  that 
war  is  a  game  which,  were  their  subjects  wise,  kings  would 
not  play  at. 


Going  by  steam  to-day  to  Auteuil,  how  pretty  are  the 
coquelicots  des  champs^  the  single  red  poppies,  growing 
thickly  along  the  railway !  In  a  deep  cut,  how  gay  is  the 
bank!  I  go  to  Auteuil  to  see  about  renting  apartments 
for  certain  Americans.     The  concierge-woman  shows  me 

the  rooms  and  tells  me  the  terms.     Mr.  and  Mrs. 

must  write  to  Belgium  to  Madame  Druvet,  who  now  rents 
the  rooms,  and  who  is  al>sent.  And  if  they  do  take  them, 
they  must  pass  in  the  house  for  the  family  of  Madame 
Druvet,  Ijecause  it  would  make  a  whole  history  if  the  pro- 
prietor should  find  out  that  madame  had  sublet. 


This  being  Thursday,  the  usual  school  holiday,  I  go  to 
the  girls'  normal  school  to  hear  the  religious  instruction. 
I  do  not  hear  it  in  both  classes:  one  suffices.  The  instruc- 
tion ia  given  by  Mr.  the  Abb6 ,  chaplain  at  the  church 

of  Our  Lady  of  Victories,  about  twenty-five  young  women 
being  present.  The  first  portion  of  the  lesson  is  an  arid 
one,  on  a  part  of  the  great  and  little  pro[)hets.  What  has 
caased  these  writings  to  be  preserved?     Is  it  not  some 


PARIS.  171 

grand  tlioiights  scjittered  through  them  ?  and  must  not  the 
lesson  be  arid  if  it  contains  none  of  these  grand  passages? 
Must  not  the  story  of  Jonah  swallowed  by  the  whale  be 
something  for  the  mind  to  seize  hold  of,  and  for  the  pupil 
to  repeat  with  fluency  ?  The  pupils  have  the  sacred  history 
of  the  Abb6  Drioux.  I  understand  the  chaplain  to  desire 
them  to  read  certain  passages  in  the  Bible ;  but  it  is  not  so : 
they  are  in  a  book  of  selections.  The  second  part  of  the 
lesson  is  upon  Jesus  Christ,  and  from  my  scattering  notes 
I  have  endeavored  to  compose  a  sketch  of  it : 

"Who  is  Jesus  Christ?  Here  are  three  points  to  ex- 
amine: the  mystery  called  the  incarnation,  the  reasons  of 
the  mystery,  and  the  history  of  the  incarnation.  And,  first, 
Jesus  Christ  will  be  considered  as  Go<l,  quoting  the  doctrine 
of  the  Council  of  Constantinople;  and,  secondly,  Jesus  Christ 
will  be  considered  as  man,  with  an  analysis  of  the  doctrine 
of  the  same  council.  After  this  we  must  examine  how 
divinity  and  humanity  are  united  in  Jesus  Christ,  or  the 
hypostatic  union,  with  the  wonderful  consequences  of  the 
incarnation  of  the  Word.  . . .  Let  us  consider  the  Saviour  as 
come.  The  mystery  of  the  incarnation  is  the  mystery  of  the 
Son  of  God  made  man,  or  the  incarnation  of  the  Word, — the 
W^ord  entered  into  our  flesh.  He  is  king,  pontiff,  priest, 
the  Word  made  man.  Most  profound  mystery !  There 
have  been  heresies,  and  great  arguments  have  been  used  to 
destroy  them,  but  the  doctrine  has  been  recognized  from 
the  beginning:  the  church  has  rectified  errors,  and  now  we 
cannot  stray  from  the  doctrine.  Jesus  Christ,  considered 
as  God,  is  the  Word.  The  Council  of  Constantinople, 
formed  to  strike  heresies  dead,  has  settled  this.  He  is  con- 
substantial  with  the  Father.  The  symbol  of  the  apostles 
speaks  of  him  as  equal  with  God ;  true  God  of  true  God, 
but  a  distinct  person ;  and  this  is  what  we  should  believe." 


172  FRENCH  AND  BELGIANS. 

My  report  proceeds  to  a  considerably  greater  length,  but  I 
conclude  to  omit  the  rest. 

Miss  S.,  the  agreeable  young  lady  of  whom  I  have  before 
spoken,  the  su}x?rinteiident,  accompanies  me  while  here 
to-day,  as  she  did  before.  I  ask  her  whether  they  have 
the  Bible.  "We  shall  have  the  Bible  of  Mr.  de  Sacy," 
she  answers;  "and  here  in  this  sacred  history  of  Drury 
we  have  many  extracts  from  the  Bible."  "  Have  you  a 
Testament?"  "Yes,  there  is  a  Testament  in  the  library; 
the  scholars  can  take  it  when  they  choose." 

Before  leaving  I  hear  that  when,  at  the  Luxembourg, 
pupils  are  examined  for  entering  this  school,  women  may 
be  present;  but  the  examinations  of  the  pupils  of  this 
school  before  taking  a  degree  are  not  public.  Miss  S. 
also  tells  me  that  the  pupils  here  have  much  mental 
arithmetic  in  the  first  year,  esi)ecially  in  the  Jrst  three 
months ;  but  there  is  none  in  the  communal  (or  grammar) 
schools. 

I  have  S|X)ken  of  my  American  friend  who  keeps  house 
in  Paris,  and  of  her  servant.  Ad(ile  is  a  Protestant ;  she 
has  called  to  see  the  midwife,  who  spoke  of  her  daughter  as 
having  gone  to  eat  the  good  God.  The  expression  is  so 
strange  that  I  make  note  of  it;  but  afterwards  Madame 
I^blanc  and  the  doctor  tell  me  that  it  is  used  as  a 
pleasantry.  It  must  refer,  of  course,  to  the  mass  or  com- 
munion. 

I  go  into  the  grocer's  to  get  coffee  for  Victor,  and  find 
only  a  woman  in  the  store.  I  have  not  yet  got  over  the 
oddity  of  finding  women  everywhere;  but  perhaps  it 
seemed  the  strangest  at  the  tobacconist's,  or  government 
office  of  tobacco,  where  you   can  buy  the  weed,  even  in 


PARIS.  173 

very  small  quantities,  and  also  stamps  for  your  letters. 
This  also,  I  believe,  is  the  place  to  find  the  directory, 
sueli  as  it  is,  instead  of  at  the  druggist's,  as  with  us. 

I  always  find  the  shoemaker's  wife  in  the  store,  and,  as 
far  as  I  have  observed,  there  is  very  little  space  back  of 
the  store.  He  is  a  pretty  young  man,  the  shoemaker, 
with  his  dark  moustache,  and  he  looks  delicate.  His  wife, 
as  her  servant  told  us,  is  6*^  gentille, — very  sweet.  One  or 
both  of  them  went  away  at  Whitsuntide  to  bring  their 
oldest  child  home  from  the  country.  Pretty  little  French- 
man,— he  is  about  three  years  old,  and  still  wears  a  thick 
white  cap, — with  his  clear  brown  skin  and  his  blue  check 
blouse  apron  !  He  has  a  sardine;  but  he  sheds  a  tear  or 
two,  because  he  wants  to  go  back  to  the  country;  and  his 
mother  tells  him :  "  To-morrow  we'll  go  and  ride  and 
ride."  They  are  very  pretty  young  people.  Siie  has  had 
three  children  in  three  years,  and  one  of  them  is  dead. 
As  to  this  little  fellow,  think  of  him !  brought  from  his 
country  home  and  shut  up  in  close  quarters  here. 


Not  long  since  I  mentioned  how  few  are  the  classes  of 
officers  for  whom  Victor  votes.  This  department  of  the 
Seine,  like  all  the  other  departments  into  which  France  is 
divided,  is  governed  by  a  prefect;  I  sup|K)se  I  may  be 
allowed  to  say  that  he  corresponds  with  the  governor  of  a 
State  at  home.  Is  he  electetl  by  the  people?  No.  I  am 
told  that  he  is  appointed  by  the  President,  to  serve  during 
good  behavior;  also,  that  he  may  be  removed  by  the  minis- 
ter of  the  interior.  There  is  a  treasurer  of  the  department 
of  the  Seine,  who  is  appointed  by  the  minister  of  finance, 
with  the  consent  of  the  other  ministers  and  the  signature 
of  the  President.     There  is  in  France  a  director-general 


174  FRENCH  AND  BELGIANS. 

of  public  assistance,  who  takes  ciiarge  of  the  poor,  being 
named  by  tlie  ministers,  with  the  consent  of  the  President. 
He  ap[K)ints  his  assistants  in  all  the  departments,  with  the 
signature  of  the  President.  Supreme  judges  are  appointed 
by  the  minister  of  justice,  with  the  consent  of  the  other 
ministers  and  the  signature  of  the  President;  they  may 
be  removed  to  other  localities,  but  are  appointed  for  life. 
Only  the  judges  hold  their  offices  by  a  life-tenure ;  these 
other  officers  are  for  good  conduct  or  at  the  will  of  the 
government.  All  the  officers  of  the  tribunals  are  appointed 
by  the  government.  Thus  we  can  see  how  in  France  power 
generally  goes  downward ;  instead  of  upward,  as  with  us. 
Though  the  territory  of  France  is  so  much  smaller  than 
ours,  yet  its  population  near  equals  our  own,  being  thirty- 
eight  millions. 

Friday  J  June  loth. — About  half- past  seven  this  morning 
I  go  to  the  baker's  for  bread,  and  as  I  leave  the  shop  I  see 
a  procession  of  little  boys,  conducted  by  a  young  man  in 
8i>ectacles  and  gown.  Suppasing  them  to  belong  to  the 
Jesuit  school  of  which  I  have  spoken,  I  follow,  and  see 
them  enter  it,  and  afterwards  three  young  girls.  As  the 
young  women  go  in,  I  think  that  I  may,  and  I  find  myself 
first  in  an  entry,  and  tiien  in  a  large,  high  hall,  where  X 
catch  sight  of  two  or  more  frames  hanging,  on  one  of 
which  I  read,  "School  of  St.  Ignatius.  Excellence,  Dili- 
gence." There  are  other  subjects,  and  the  names  of 
scholars  distinguished,  as  I  had  seen  them  at  the  boys' 
public  school.  The  young  women  had  apparently  gone 
into  a  room  whose  door  was  on  the  right  of  these  frames, 
and  I  look  within  and  find  a  chapel,  the  far  end  of  which 
has  a  gaudy  ap|)earan(«  ;  within  the  chapel  are  a  number  of 
males  and  some  females.     I  do  not  enter  this  room,  but 


PARIS.  175 

seeing  a  swarthy  man,  rather  young,  standing  in  the  outer 
one, — a  person  connected  with  the  establishment,  apparently 
one  of  the  brethren, — I  inquire,  "Are  there  services,  sir, 
every  morning?"  Politely  he  takes  oif  his  cap  and  replies, 
"  Mass  every  morning."  I  do  not  quite  understand  him, 
and  he  repeats  with  good  humor,  "  Mass  every  morning  at 
half-past  seven."  Going  out,  I  see  upon  the  street  seven 
omnibuses,  each  with  two  horses,  labelled,  "  Day  School  of 
the  Rue  de  Madrid,"  not,  as  within,  "  School  of  St.  Igna- 
tius." A  person  in  the  neighborhood  tells  me  that  the 
holiday  of  this  school  is  not  Thursday,  the  usual  day,  as 
the  boys  fought  so  with  the  other  boys.  I  ask  her  who 
began,  and  she  says,  "Sometimes  the  one  side,  sometimes 
the  other." 

Occasionally  the  traveller  is  gravely  told  of  things  in  his 
own  country  which  he  never  saw  at  home.  Victor  tells 
me  that  coke  here  is  three  francs  the  hectolitre,  the  hecto- 
litre being  about  two  and  eight-tenths  bushels.  He  does 
not  burn  stone-coal  here  because  it  smells  bad,  so  I  infer 
that  the  coal  used  here  is  bituminous.  He  tells  me  that 
we  have  not  enough  coal  in  America  to  supply  our  ships, 
but  have  to  do  like  the  French  and  buy  our  coal  in  Eng- 
land !  The  ships  of  France,  he  says,  are  obliged  to  buy 
English  coal,  which  is  cheaper  than  the  French.  The 
French,  indeed,  have  very  little.  Belgium  is  very  well 
supplied,  and  this  coal  district  continues  for  a  space  into 
France;  but  this,  I  believe,  is  all  which  Fmnce  has, — fuel 
being  the  weak  point  of  this  fine  country.  Victor  tells  me 
that  stone-coal  sells  at  five  and  seven  francs  the  hundred 
kilos  (the  kilogramme  being  about  two  and  one-fifth 
pounds).  If  we  estimate  one  thousand  kilos  to  a  ton,  the 
cheapest  stone-coal  here  will  be  about  ten  dollars  the  ton. 


176  FRENCH  AND  BELGIANS. 

Wood  is  sold  by  weight,  and  is  six  francs  the  hundred 
kilos,  or  about  twelve  dollars  the  ton.  At  the  Exposition 
I  see  an  immense  lump  of  our  coal,  with  six  stoves  stand- 
ing n})on  it.  Near  by  are  seven  whitewashed  barrels  con- 
taining different  kinds  of  coal.  Could  the  exhibit  be  got 
up  more  elegantly  and  be  labelled,  it  would  doubtless  attract 
more  attention.* 

Our  countrywoman,  Julia  Ward  Howe,  has  chosen  the 
subject  for  her  lecture  before  the  league  lately  mentioned  ; 
it  is  to  be  Woman  and  Peace.  It  has  been  suggested 
to  her  to  take  2'he  Liberty  of  the  Press  in  America ;  but 
in  conversation  both  Madame  Latour  and  Madame  Goumxl- 
Tessin  think  that  she  might  not  be  able  to  procure  a  permit 
to  lecture  upon  this  subject  from  the  minister  of  the  in- 
terior and  the  prefect  of  police,  as  is  required. 


Sunday,  June  IQth. — I  see  a  young  woman  sitting  with 
her  sewing  at  one  of  the  windows  which  look  upon  our 
courtyard,  and  I  ask  whether  domestics  sew  on  Sunday. 
Victor  asks,  "If  a  workman  has  work  on  Sunday,  shall 
he  not  do  it  to  support  his  family?"  "But  you  do  not 
give  lessons  on  Sunday?"  I  say  (for,  besides  his  business 
of  book-keeper,  he  has  sjwken  of  giving  lessons).  "  No," 
he  answers;  "because  in  a  school  you  cannot  take  a  day 
when  you  wish,  as  a  workman  can." 


Monday,  June  17th. — Passing  through  the  Batignolles 

*  Appletons'  '*  Cyclopndia"  tells  us  that  coal  U  to  be  found  in  diffurent 
departments  of  France;  the  annual  yield  of  the  mines  being  about 
two  million  tons.  The  production  of  Pennsylvania  in  1874  was  over 
thirty-two  million  tons. 


PARIS.  177 

Market,  I  see  upon  a  card  conspicuously  posted,  "Fresh 
raeat  from  America.  Mutton.  Prices  of  the  day."  The 
prices  run  as  follows:  leg  seventy-five  centimes  the  half 
kilo,  or  about  fourteen  cents  the  pound  English ;  cutlets 
the  same;  fillet  about  twelve  cents;  and  shoulder  about 
eleven ;  but  I  see  no  rush  of  people  to  buy  it.  At  the 
Farmers'  Market  in  Philadelphia  the  different  stalls  are 
conspicuously  labelled  in  this  manner:  Stephen  Darlington, 
Virgil  Eachus,  Isaac  Evans;  but  at  this  BatignoUes  Market 
there  are  small  signs  or  plates,  with  the  names  thus :  Mr. 
Goujon,  Mr.  Blanc,  Mme.  Ve.  Pierre,  or  Mrs.  Widow 
Pierre,  and  so  on.  I  begin  to  reflect  that  the  title  mon- 
sieur (as  addressed  to  the  lord  of  the  manor)  must  have 
fallen  since  the  old  times;  but  possibly  these  are  as  much 
of  gentlemen  as  some  of  the  ancient  ones.  Anyhow, 
BatignoUes  Market  is  not  one  of  the  charming  places  of 
Paris. 

After  passing  through  the  market,  I  soon  come  to  a 
handsome  public  garden,  the  Square  des  BatignoUes.  It 
has  chairs  and  benches,  fine  grass,  handsome  trees,  beauti- 
tifuUy-kept  flowers,  and  it  is  a  good  place  to  banish  the 
disgust  which  one  is  likely  to  feel  after  leaving  untidy, 
squalid  surroundings.  There  is  a  piece  of  water  in  the 
square;  it  flows  over  the  gravelled  path  and  among  large 
stones,  and  upon  it  there  are  ducks.  Birds  twitter  over- 
head, children  prattle,  and  I  feel  that  it  is  a  beneficent  gov- 
ernment that  provides  such  a  place;  for,  besides  being 
out  of  sorts,  I  have  just  left  a  third  floor  where  lives  a 
working-woman  and  passed  through  the  disagreeable 
market. 

While,  however,  lam  complacently  seated,  a  woman  conies 
up  to  me  in  a  business  manner;  and  she  means  business, 
for  she  demands  four  sous  for  the  use  of  the  chair,,  which 


178  FRENCH  AND  BELGIANS. 

cools  my  enthusiasm.  I  have  thoughtlessly  taken  an  arm- 
chair, which  costs  more.  When  I  pay  her,  she  gives  me 
a  little  colored  picture  or  card,  such  as  shopmen  give  out 
in  Paris, — foolish  things  perhaps,  but  artistically  done; 
my  colore<l  picture  is  "Marriage  in  miniature;  asking 
consent  of  the  father."  It  says  also,  "  Most  precious  dis- 
coverv  of  the  age:  dentifrice  of  cresses."  The  back  of 
the  card  narrates  the  virtues  of  this  dentifrice,  and  is 
stamped  with  the  price  of  my  chair, — twenty  centimes :  it 
is  my  receipt.  Near  me  sit  two  ladies ;  the  elder  one  has 
an  umbrella,  and  the  younger  is  making  tatting  with  a 
shuttle;  two  little  ones  are  with  them,  a  boy  and  a  girl, 
tidily  dressed  in  French  fashion,  but  not  expensively. 
They  have  little  wootlen  shovels  and  tin  buckets,  and  are 
playing  with  tiie  gravel.  The  boy  is  so  pleasal  that  he 
looks  up  at  the  younger  lady  and  says,  "Good-day, 
mamma."  "Good-day,  my  little  one,"  she  replies.  Soon 
the  elder  lady  takes  the  children  away,  and  they  come  back 
with  wafers  or  thin  roUed-up  cakes.  The  water  is  intro- 
duced under  large  rocks  to  resemble  a  spring;  it  has  a 
little  fall  from  pool  to  pool ;  it  attracts  children,  as  water 
always  does.  A  gardener  comes  in  wooden  shoes,  bringing 
flower-j)ot8.  What  a  quantity  of  manure  upon  this  bed  of 
geraniums!  Where  do  they  get  so  much ?  A  man  a)mes 
with  a  wheelbarrow-load  of  fine  stable  manure,  and  then 
another.  A  little  girl  comes  up  to  where  we  are  sitting, 
accompanied  by  an  elderly  man.  She  has  a  hoop;  she 
joins  the  other  two  children,  and  they  begin  to  play  hide- 
liide, — cache-cache, — which  we  call  hitle-and-seek.  Then 
the  new-comer  takes  a  pebble  in  one  hand,  and  holds  out 
l)oth  for  her  companion  to  guess  in  which  hand  it  is.  She 
has  let  the  little  boy  have  her  hoop,  and  now  she  l)egins  to 
repeat . verses, — as  our  children  say  when  at  play,  "One- 


PARIS.  179 

ery,  oo-ery,  ickery,  an ;  bobtail,  vinegar,  who  began  ?"  But 
this  is  what  the  little  French  girl  says : 

"  Une  souris  verte,  qui  courait  dans  I'herbe, 
Je  la  prends  par  la  queue,  je  la  montre  a  ces  messieurs." 

(A  green  mouse  that  was  running  in  the  grass:  I  take  it  by 
the  tail ;  I  show  it  to  these  gentlemen.)  Thus  she  decides 
who  shall  hide  the  handkerchief.  Now  the  poor-looking 
boys  are  coming  from  the  public  school ;  see  the  names 
on  baskets  they  carry.  A  quarrel  arises ;  one  picks  up  a 
pebble,  as  if  going  to  throw  it  at  another,  but  he  concludes 
by  throwing  it  into  the  water.  Before  long  the  man  in 
authority  appears, — the  big  man  in  uniform;  he  can  keep 
children  in  order.  He  wears  a  dark  green  coat  and  cap; 
he  carries  a  stick  and  wears  a  sword ;  he  has  a  decoration 
on  his  breast :  doubtless  he  was  long  a  soldier.  I  get  up 
to  walk,  and  meet  a  very  neat-looking  girl,  about  twelve 
years  old,  without  a  bonnet,  walking  with  a  woman  in  a 
cap.  The  girl  wears  a  high  black  woollen  apron,  and  on 
her  breast  are  two  medals — one  whits,  one  yellow — attached 
with  black  ribbons.  A  lady  tells  me  that  they  are  prob- 
ably the  medals  of  her  class :  the  nice  girl  wears  them 
much  as  the  military  man  wears  his  decoration.  I  make 
an  inquiry  from  a  woman  who  joins  me  in  my  walk.  She 
tells  me  of  an  acquaintance,  who  was  in  Philadelphia,  who 
paid  twelve  francs  for  a  beefsteak.  (Let  us  at  least  hope 
that  it  was  a  large  one.)  She  tells  me  that  her  daughter 
teaches ;  she  speaks  of  the  Park  Monceau,  where  she  very 
often  goes,  and  she  conducts  me  thither.  It  is  more  ele- 
gant, and  so  are  the  people;  upon  it  is  the  house  of  Menier, 
whose  advertisement  is  so  often  seen  upon  the  streets, — 
Chocolat  Menier;  he  is  a  rich  man. 


180  FRENCH  AND  BELGIANS. 


CHAPTER    XII. 

Tuesday,  June  ISth. — A  friend  in  America  gave  me  a 
souvenir  to  take  to  one  of  her  French  friends.  He  does 
not  live  in  Paris,  but  I  can  hear  from  him  through  Mr. 
Ijetellier,  who  does.  To-day  I  proceed  to  find  this  gentle- 
man, and,  reaching  the  riglit  number,  I  go  up  six  flights  of 
stairs,  until  I  come  to  his  neat  apartment.  He  seems  to 
live  alone;  he  is  a  childless  widower.  He  calls  my  atten- 
tion to  a  carved  cabinet,  which  he  says  is  of  the  time  of 
Henry  II.  It  is  the  piece  of  furniture  which  the  quiet 
gentleman  seems  proud  of, — a  gift  to  his  wife  from  her 
father,  who  was  an  artist.  Mr.  Letellier,  as  I  call  him,  is 
connected  with  a  newspaper,  but  not  a  political  one;  never- 
theless, this  seems  a  good  opportunity  to  obtain  some  infor- 
mation about  the  press,  which  Mr.  L.  gives  me  nearly  as 
follows:  "If  you  desire  to  establish  a  politicid  newspaper 
in  France,  you  must  apply  for  authority  to  the  minister  of 
the  interior,  who  will  give  his  onlers  to  the  prefect  of 
police  of  Paris  (or,  in  another  department,  to  the  prefect  of 
that  department).  The  prefect  of  police  sends  you  to  the 
governor  of  Paris,  who  is  the  military  governor  (this  was 
the  rule  two  years  ago;  |)erhaps  it  has  become  more  liberal 
since).  AVhen  you  have  obtained  permission  of  the  mili- 
tary governor,  you  must  go  to  the  treasurer,  or  minister  of 
finance,  to  give  bail.  This  is  always  high  ;  the  minimum, 
I  think,  is  eighteen  thousand  francs.  This  must  be  ready- 
money,  which  will  be  returned  when  the  journal  ceases  to 
exist;  the  money  is  always  restored  to  the  iudividuul,  or  to 


PARIS.  ,  181 

his  heirs,  if  he  has  not  lost  tlie  whole  by  proceedings  against 
the  paper.  These  proceedings  may  be  in  the  form  of  fines 
exacted  by  the  gov^ernment." 

Wi)ile  in  Paris,  I  call  again  upon  this  gentleman,  and  in 
leaving  I  open  a  wrong  door.  It  is  that  of  a  little  room 
containing  canaries.  I  remark  that  Parisians  want  some- 
thing to  love  (I  could  not  then  give  the  word  for  pets), 
and  that  often  tiiey  have  little  dogs.  He  answers  that  he 
has  only  his  birds.  He  has  a  brother,  but  he  lives  in  the 
provinces;  and,  as  I  have  before  said,  Mr.  Letellier  is  a 
childless  widower.  Loneliness  in  a  crowd  !  If  he  is  taken 
sick  what  will  be  his  refuge? — a  hospital  ? 


I  call  again  to-day  upon  the  liberal  Protestant  gentleman 
before  mentioned,  and  have  further  conversation  with  him. 
Out  of  the  thirty-eight  millions  of  people  in  France,  about 
four  hundred  thousand  are  Protestants.  There  are  two 
liundred  and  fifty  liberal  churches  in  France,  the  greater 
part  being  village  churches.  (In  opinion,  I  understand 
that  they  resemble  the  late  Theodore  Parker.)  The  gen- 
tleman adds  that  the  average  number  of  members  in  these 
churches  is  two  hundred;  and  the  conditions  of  member- 
ship are,  to  be  baptized,  to  have  made  the  first  communion, 
and  to  have  had  one's  marriage  blest  in  the  church.  (Thus 
it  will  be  seen  that  even  liberals  demand  something  beyond 
the  only  legjil  marriage,  which  is  in  the  mayor's  office.) 
All  these  liberal  churches  are  recognized  by  the  state  but 
one, — that  of  St.  Andr6,  in  Paris,  the  only  one  of  the  kind 
in  this  city.  As  I  have  before  told,  this  church  was  de- 
prived of  all  government  aid  by  the  action  of  Guizot,  the 
historian,  towards  Coquerel,  the  former  pastor,  now  dead. 

Here  I  propose  to  give  an  anecdote,  an  exceptional  one; 

9 


182  FRENCH  AND  BELGIANS. 

as  I  have  hitherto  avoided  giving  names  and  tales  both  ; 
this  story,  however,  may  be  interesting  to  my  fellow-coun- 
trymen, such  as  are  now  opposing  the  old  doctrine  of  rota- 
tion in  office.  It  was  told  to  me  by  a  person  of  great  re- 
sj)ectability,  but  one  who  has  reason  for  not  loving  the 
name  of  Guizot.  Guizot,  the  son,  had  contractetl  gambling- 
debts,  amounting,  perhaps,  to  ten  thousand  dollars.  He 
himself  was  in  opjwsition  to  the  emperor;  but,  as  his 
father  was  a  distinguished  man,  he  wrote  to  Louis  Napo- 
leon, asking  him  to  pay  his  debts.  The  emperor  did  so; 
the  younger  Guizot  supported  him,  and  was  soon  made 
— what?  Sub-director  of  public  worship!  And  this  is 
a  j)ermanent  office,  as  it  is  not  the  custom  to  displace  office- 
holders. The  ministry  may  pass  away,  but  the  lower  offi- 
cers remain.  It  w-as  after  the  action  of  his  father  towards 
Mr.  Coquerel  that  the  son  received  the  appointment. 
Through  the  Guizots,  is  the  Church  purified  ?  Here  may 
be  the  proper  place  to  add  that  in  the  north  of  France  I 
saw  a  handbill  |X)sted,  stating  that  Mr.  Bardoux  had  been 
to  Lisle  to  lay  the  corner-stone  of  a  building;  Mr.  Bar- 
doux, "  minister  of  public  instruction,  of  worship,  and  of 
fine  arts," — a  concatenation  accordingly  !* 


When  out  lately  I  became  pre-occupied,  and  went  through 
a  new  street,  where  I  saw  a  building  with  the  sign  St. 
Augustine  I^iundry ;  so  called  from  the  great  church  near 
by.  The  signs  of  Paris  are  a  curiosity ;  the  stt)rekeeper 
rarely  or  never  putting  his  name  over  his  door.  One  estab- 
lishment is  "Great  Stores  of  the  Louvre;"  another  the 


*  By  the  budget  estimate  of  1878,  the  cost  of  public  instruction, 
worship,  iind  the  flne  arts  was  about  115,000,000  francs;  that  of  the 
army  more  than  four  times  the  sum. 


PARIS.  183 

cheap  store  or  "Bon  March6;"  another  large  store  is 
"  To  Spring;"  and  a  place  for  infants'  clothing  bears  the 
tender  appellation  "  To  Maternal  Joy."  Bnt  to  return 
to  the  lanndry  or  lavoir:  the  upper  part  of  the  door  is 
not  closed,  except  by  some  upright  iron  rods,  so  that  I 
am  able  to  look  in  and  see  the  rows  of  women  at  work, 
— three  rows  with  tubs,  l)esides  an  enormous  vessel  for 
rinsing.  Seeing  me  looking  in,  a  nice-looking  woman 
comes  to  the  door,  and  talks  with  me  on  the  subject 
through  the  bars.  I  understand  that  there  are  mistresses 
and  assistants ;  if  so,  the  French  passion  for  grading  things 
can  be  observed  even  here.  Each  woman  with  a  tub  has 
also  before  her  a  little  inclined  plane,  like  a  school-desk. 
Upon  this  she  lays  a  piece  of  the  wet  clothing  and  soaps  it; 
then  doubling  it,  she  takes  a  paddle,  like  a  large  butter- 
worker,  and  beats  the  article,  probably  to  beat  the  soap 
through.  Afterwards  she  takes  a  brush,  like  a  clothes- 
brush,  but  longer  in  the  bristles, — tlie  bristles  (if  I  may  say 
so)  being  made  of  fine  broom-corn ;  with  this  she  brushes 
the  article  that  she  is  washing.  I  ask  whether  they  do  not 
boil  the  clothes;  and  I  understand  that  if  they  are  brought 
in  in  the  evening,  they  put  them  into  a  vessel  and  boil  or 
scald  them  during  the  night,  and  that  they  use  lye  and 
Javel  water, — eau  de  Javel.  As  regards  this  eau  de  Javel, 
a  lady  from  the  centre  of  France  tells  me  that  it  burns  the 
clothes,  but  I  understand  at  Paris  that  it  is  used  for  re- 
moving wine-stains.  As  I  am  leaving  the  laundry,  I  see 
an  old  woman  carrying  away  a  quantity  of  wet  clothing, 
and  on  inquiry,  she  tells  me  that  there  is  a  drying-place 
above  the  wash-room, — a  s^choir  above  the  lavoir.  Ad6le, 
the  servant  of  my  friend,  tells  her  that  women  who  have 
washing  to  do  can  take  it  to  a  lavoir,  and  make  use  of  all 
the  conveniences  by  paying  a  moderate  sum. 


184  FRENCH  AND  BELGIANS. 

Victor  says  that  the  salary  of  Mr.  ,  as  professor 

in  the  College  of  France,  is  twelve  thousjind  francs,  and 
Victor  and  Madame  Leblanc  think  it  high ;  but  it  does 
not  apj)ear  to  me  that  two  thousand  four  hundred  dollars 
is  a  large  income  for  Paris. 


This  evening  Victor  celebrates  the  anniversary  of  their 
we<lding.  We  have  to  dine  Mr.  and  Mrs.  D.,  who,  on  ar- 
riving, both  kiss  Mrs.  Leblanc  on  both  cheeks ;  also,  there  is 
a  Swiss  gentleman  who  has  lived  several  years  in  England, 
and  who  brings  a  nosegay  of  the  French  national  colors, 
red,  white,  and  blue. 

Victor  gives  us  a  very  good  soup  or  potage,  thickened 
with  tapioca ;  a  pie  or  vol  an  vent ;  a  piece  of  roast  veal, 
with  pared  and  beautifully  browned  new  potatoes;  a  salad, 
and  wines  of  diiferent  kinds.  The  dessert  is  oranges, 
strawlxirries,  cherries,  and  cheese,  and  then  black  coffee. 
We  sit  down  late  to  tlie  table,  and  it  is  long  after  ten  when 
we  leave  it.  One  of  the  subjects  spoken  of  at  dinner  is 
madame's  confinement,  and  how  she  suffered,  and  how  her 
husband  went  for  the  doctor.  After  dinner  we  go  into  my 
room  or  the  parlor,  and  while  Madame  Leblanc  accom- 
panies them  upon  the  piano,  Mr.  and  Mrs.  D.  sing.  She 
is  from  the  south  of  France,  and  has  been  married  about 
four  months;  she  has  a  sweet  voice  and  beautiful  dark 
eyes.  In  thinking  about  her  afterwards,  it  seems  to  me 
that  I  never  saw  more  beautiful  eyes, — dark,  soft,  and 
modest;  and  that  they  differ  in  expression  from  those  of 
my  countrywomen  ;  we  have  more  confidence. 


Wednesday,  June  Idth. — I  am  invited  to  dine  to-day 


PARIS.  185 

with  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Vibert,  having  brought  a  note  of  introduc- 
tion to  madame  from  a  relative  in  our  country.  They  are 
Protestants.  Mr.  Vibert  is  superintendent  of  a  factory  or 
machine-shop  in  a  manufacturing  district  of  Paris,  and  before 
dinner  he  shows  me  the  shop,  and  we  converse  on  the  con- 
dition of  the  workmen.  From  what  lie  says  I  take  the 
following :  "  In  this  factory  there  are  from  one  hundred  to 
one  hurared  and  twenty  hands.  The  mechanics,  or  work- 
iugmen,  of  Paris, — oumners, — are  paid  by  the  hour,  and 
receive  their  wages  once  a  fortnight.  They  work  ten  hours 
a  day,  and  good  workmen  receive  twelve  sous  an  hour. 
Some  work  by  the  piece,  and  very  skilful  ones  can  make 
a  franc  an  hour.  Not  more  than  four  per  cent,  put  money 
into  the  savings-bank, — caisse  d'argent.  In  this  factory  the 
employers  oblige  the  workmen  to  leave  two  per  cent,  of 
their  wages  in  the  hands  of  the  cashier ;  and  if  they  happen 
to  be  sick  or  wounded,  they  receive  two  francs  a  day.  Until 
sixteen  the  apprentices  are  obliged  to  attend  evening  school, 
or  until  they  understand  reading,  writing,  and  the  first  four 
rules  of  arithmetic.  About  ten  per  cent,  of  the  men  get 
drunk  on  Sunday,  and  five  per  cent,  do  not  come  back  to 
their  work  on  Monday.  The  families  of  these  men  suffer. 
The  average  number  of  children  in  a  family  is  four."  In 
sjieaking  of  the  workingman  who  drinks,  Mr.  Vibert  says 
that  he  contracts  debts  to  the  butcher  and  baker,  and  then 
he  moves  away  and  begins  again.  He  adds  that  even  as 
late  as  Wednesday  some  of  the  men  are  not  fit  to  work 
from  drunkenness.  A  law  was  passed  that  men  should  be 
arrested  and  fined  for  this  vice,  but  Mr.  Vibert  has  not 
perceived  that  it  has  had  much  effect.  As  usual  among  the 
French,  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Vibert  do  not  consider  total  absti- 
nence desirable. 

It  may  be  remembered  that  an  iuspectress  in  one  of  the 


186  FRENCH  AND  BELGIANS. 

infant  schools,  when  I  spoke  of  the  immense  proportion 
of  illegitimate  births  in  Paris,  said  that  these  occurred 
among  the  workingmen  and  workingwomen  in  certain 
quarters.  Mr.  Vibert  estimates  that  there  may  be  five  per 
cent,  of  the  workmen  with  them  who  are  not  married,  and 
I  think  he  adds  that  a  few  are  living  with  women  to  whom 
they  are  not  married.  He  thinks  that  the  n.ochanics — 
ouvriers — do  not  trouble  themselves  about  socia.!-<!u;  he 
does  not  know  of  one  who  does.  He  says  that  there  are 
excessively  few  of  the  manufactories  of  Paris  that  carry 
on  work  on  Sunday ;  yet  of  the  hands  in  this  factory  not 
more  than  three  or  four  per  cent,  frequent  church. 

If  we  come  to  the  amusements  of  the  workingmen,  he 
says  that  their  principal  occupation  when  not  at  work  is 
visiting  the  wine-shop.  As  for  literary  societies,  there  is 
no  such  thing  thought  of  among  them.  However,  the 
workingmen  of  Paris  read  many  republican  journals,  and 
women  too  take  a  quantity  of  the  same.  As  for  building 
and  beneficial  societies  among  mechanics,  Mr.  Vibert  says 
that  he  hears  nothing  of  them.  I  have  said  that  not  more 
than  four  \)ev  cent,  of  the  men  here  put  money  into  the 
savings-bank.  Madame  Vibert  speaks  of  the  heavy  ex- 
pense of  living  when  I  inquire  what  the  workmen  lay  by. 

Mr.  Vil)ert  studied  for  three  years  at  the  School  of  Arts 
and  Trades  at  Chalons-8ur-M;irne,  l)eginning  at  the  age  of 
fifteen.  At  eighteen  he  entered  into  a  machine-shop  to 
make  steam-engines.  He  is  now  superintendent — directeur 
— of  this  factory,  his  salary  being  five  thousand  francs,  with 
five  jKjr  cent,  of  the  profits,  and  his  rent,  he  occupying  a 
house  U{)on  the  same  ground  as  the  manufactory. 

He  says  that  the  Commune  was  not  cause<l  at  all  by  the 
workingmen.  The  outbreak  was  prcKluced  by  an  effort  of 
the  government  to  seize  certain  cannon  upon  the  BiiUes  de 


PARIS.  187 

Moritmartre  that  were  in  possession  of  the  national  guard. 
He  adds  that  the  siege  of  Paris  might  have  been  raised  had 
a  patriotic  general  made  use  of  the  national  guard,  com- 
posed of  all  the  men  in  Paris  fit  to  bear  arms.  Victor 
Hugo  was  a  member.  But  the  military  officers  were  only 
willing  to  employ  the  regular  army,  which  was  entirely 
insufficient.  He  thinks  it  probable  that  the  Tuileries 
palace  was  burned  by  Bonapartists  to  destroy  papers  which 
might  compromise  them. 

What  we  call  the  Commune  is  often  called  in  France  the 
civil  war.  Since  my  return  to  our  own  country,  I  have 
written  to  Mr.  Vibert  for  further  information  upon  the  sub- 
ject, and  have  received  a  reply  at  some  length,  of  which  I 
may  speak  hereafter. 

I  spoke  to  Madame  Vibert,  who,  as  I  have  said,  is  a 
Protestant,  about  Quakers,  and  about  their  having,  two 
hundred  years  ago,  turned  their  back  upon  all  external 
forms  of  religion,  baptism,  and — hesitating  for  the  French 
word — the  communion.  She  shuddered  or  seemed  shocked, 
and  said,  "  The  holiest  of  all."  I  believe  that  the  French 
have  never  had  any  sect  of  this  kind  among  them,  of  which 
we  have  had  two  in  Pennsylvania,  and  I  begin  to  perceive 
the  very  great  importance  that  the  external  forms  of  reli- 
gion have  here.  Even  the  liberal  Protestants  of  France, 
as  I  have  said,  make  baptism,  the  communion,  and  the 
church  marriage  the  requisites  for  membership  among  them. 
However,  I  understand  the  doctor  to  say  that  there  are 
many  people  who  conform  to  the  Church,  who  baptize  their 
children,  and  commune;  not  because  they  have  faith  in 
these  things,  but  because  it  is  the  fashion,  the  way  of  the 
world.  As  for  Victor,  he  is  of  a  diffijrent  stamp ;  he  will 
not  have  the  little  one  baptized,  threatening  that  if  a  priest 


188  FRENCH  AND  BELGIANS. 

enters  here,  he  will  make  hiiu  go  down  quicker  than  he 
came  up. 

ThuTHday,  June  20th. — This  being  the  day  of  the  great 
review  oC  some  fifty  thousand  troops  at  Longcharaps,  the 
Exposition  is  comparatively  deserted,  and  therefore  this  is 
a  very  good  day  to  visit  it.  Our  educational  department  is 
quite  small,  hut  Mr.  Philbriok,  who  is  at  the  head  of  it, 
tells  me  that  the  American  exhibit  of  printed  books  for  the 
blin<l  is  quite  remarkable.  He  says  that  it  was  much 
smaller  at  Vienna,  yet  Dr.  Howe,  who  was  the  exhibitor, 
received  the  first  medal, — that  of  progress.  He  says  that 
France  alone  has  here  in  the  department  of  education  four 
times  as  mucli  as  all  countries  together  had  at  Philadelphia. 
Belgium,  too,  has  a  fine  display. 

I  believe  that,  as  yet,  I  have  mentioned  few  or  no  articles 
of  luxury  at  the  Exposition.  To-day,  however,  I  notice 
gloves  with  twenty  and  twenty-four  buttons.  I  see  a  hat 
of  point-lace,  with  ornaments  of  carved  mother-of-pearl,  of 
which  the  price  is  two  thousand  eight  hundred  francs.  Could 
one  of  our  j)lain  farmers  look  at  it,  and  be  told  that  it  is 
verj'  exj)ensive,  he  might  value  it  at  six  dollars.  Another 
j)oint-lace  hat,  with  ornaments  of  fine  carved  gold,  is  put  at 
two  thousand  francs.* 

1  have  not  yet  tried  the  Seine  boats,  and,  returning  from 
the  Exposition,  I  want  to  take  one.  However,  I  remark 
to  a  man  that  I  am  afraid  to  go  upon  the  boat,  lest  there 
should  l)C  danger,  when  there  are  so  many  people.  "  There 
is  no  danger,"  he  replies;  "they  will  not  take  any  more 
than  there  are  places  for."     Oh,  elegant  and  exact  nation  !  I 

*  An  immense  sale  by  lottery  of  articles  exhibited  took  place  in  the 
Trocadcro  after  the  close  of  the  Exposition. 


PARIS.  189 

feel  ready  to  exclaim.  But  why  do  some  of  you  smoke  in 
public  places?  To  take  the  boat,  I  put  myself  at  the  end 
of  a  long  queue,  and  when  at  length  my  turn  conies,  and  I 
am  ready  to  step  on  board,  they  tell  me  that  I  shall  have 
to  go  down  into  the  cabin,  for  it  seems  that  all  the  deck 
places  are  taken.  I  express  my  disgust  and  refuse  to  go 
forward.  "  Then,"  says  an  officer,  "  you  must  put  yourself 
at  the  end  of  the  queue;"  and,  sooner  than  go  back  there,  I 
go  on  board  and  down  into  the  cabin,  where  I  find  social 
Americans,  and  it  is  not  disagreeable,  after  all.  When  I 
get  back  to  my  lodgings,  I  find  that  our  friend  Mr.  Car- 
pentier  is  here  to  dinner,  and  we  have  considerable  conver- 
sation. He  says  of  the  French,  "We  are  the  most  republi- 
can people  in  the  world;  we  have  the  idea  of  equality." 
"  But,"  say  I,  "  see  what  we  did  in  our  country :  we  eman- 
cipated our  slaves,  and  gave  them  at  once  the  rights  of 
citizens."  "  But,"  he  rejoins,  "  we  liberated  ours  centuries 
ago."  "But  my  husband  could  establish  a  paper  in  our 
country.without  asking  leave  of  any  officer  of  the  govern- 
ment." "  That  is  a  question  of  organization,"  he  concludes. 
Having  met  at  Mr.  Carpentier's  and  elsewhere  a  gentle- 
man who  has  suffered  loss  on  account  of  a  volume  which 
he  published,  I  desire  to  have  the  matter  clearly  explained, 
and  thus  it  is.  Mr.  F.  was  professor  of  belles-lettres  at  the 
academy  of  B. ;  the  academies  resembling  our  colleges  or 
universities,  and  the  professors  being  paid  by  the  govern- 
ment. Mr.  F.  published  a  book  in  which  he  said  that  the 
law  of  divorce  ought  to  be  re-established,  and  that  morality 
is  independent  of  theological  ideas  or  opinions.  (I  have  be- 
fore stated  that  while  the  civil  marriage  is  the  only  legal 
one,  the  law  of  divorce  in  France  is  that  of  the  Catholic 
Church.  Infidelity  of  either  party  does  not  entitle  the 
other  to  a  divorce  and  the  privilege  of  marrying  again.) 

9* 


190  FRENCH  AND  BELGIANS. 

On  account  of  the  two  propositions  above  mentioned,  tlie 
rector  of  the  academy  compUiined  to  the  minister  of  public 
instruction,  and  Mr.  F.  was  susi)ended  from  his  place,  with 
a  greatly  diminished  salary. 


I  venture  to  add  the  following  anecdote,  which  illustrates 
manners.  Madame  Leblanc  says  to  Mr.  Carpentier  on  this 
occasion,  "  Only  think,  Madame  G.  has  had  five  children 
and  has  four  living!"  "That  represents  much  labor,"  re- 
plies Mr.  C.  "  Tiiat  represents  forty-five  months  of  preg- 
nancy." 

Before  long  I  propose  to  go  southward,  and  Victor  paints 
to  me  the  dreadful  things  that  will  befall  me  among  the 
peasants.  He  tells  me  that  I  must  not  say  that  I  am  a 
Protestant,  and  one  of  the  company  says  that  I  shall  have 
to  lie.  Next  day,  however,  madame  says  that  they  did  not 
say  that  I  should  have  to  lie  to  the  peasants ;  but  that  if  I 
tell  them  I  am  a  Protestant,  the  peasants  will  lie  to  me. 


Friday,  June  2\8t. — I  do  begin  to  have  some  fears  about 
going,  and  among  strangers.  I  remember  some  of  the  dread- 
ful things  that  have  happened  to  Protestants  in  France; 
and  I  have  lately  read  the  speech  of  Victor  Hugo  at  the 
centenary  of  Voltaire;  wherein  he  told  how  Galas,  the 
Protestant,  was  broken  upon  the  wheel  on  a  false  accusa- 
tion; the  king  afterwards  reversing  the  decree  as  far  as  the 
family  were  affected,  owing  to  the  exertions  of  Voltaire. 

About  this  time  Madame  Leblanc,  too,  helps  to  frighten 
me,  telling  me  of  her  grandfather,  who  was  a  bigot,  and 
who,  when  he  heard  them  discussing  religious  matters  at 


PARIfi.  191 

her  father's,  said,  "  You  will  go  with  the  goats."  He  also 
said,  "  I  would  pull  the  rope,"  meaning  that  he  would  be 
willing  to  hang  Protestants,  Jews,  and  free-thinkers.  We 
can  begin  to  realize  what  a  powerful  word  CaihoUc  has  been 
in  these  countries,  when  we  remenil)er  what  orthodox  has 
been  in  our  own,  and  what  evangelical  now  is.  Ferdinand 
of  Arragon  was  honored  by  the  pope  with  the  title  the 
Catholic. 

To-day,  I  make  my  first  visit,  and  but  a  short  one,  to 
the  Louvre  Gallery.  It  seems  to  me  that  I  never  saw 
anything  of  the  kind  to  compare  with  some  of  the  statues 
here,  or  as  if  I  never  saw  statues  before.  The  Diana  of 
Houdon  is  wonderful  for  the  extreme  lightness  of  the 
figure.  But  I  forbear  to  try  to  criticise  any  of  the  works 
of  art  that  I  see.  It  was  not  to  describe  galleries,  churches, 
pictures,  and  statues  that  I  came  to  Europe ;  they  have 
been  much  written  of  before.  Yet,  in  reflecting  upon  this 
matter,  I  have  fears  that  I  have  neglected  to  give  a  sufficient 
idea  of  the  magnificence  of  Paris,  and  how  in  the  elegance 
of  its  public  buildings  it  outshines  London.  See  what  an 
immense  amount  of  decoration  has  been  put  upon  the  out- 
side of  the  Louvre!  Certainly  no  city  I  have  seen  can 
compare  with  this  beautiful  one;  and  I  feel  temptal  to 
doubt  whether  Athens  and  Rome  in  their  best  days  sur- 
passed it. 

Al)ove  stairs  in  the  picture-gallery,  among  the  artists  at 
work,  are  a  numl)er  of  women.  There  is  one  young  woman 
who  is  drawing  from  Paul  Veronese's  Marriage  at  Cana 
in  Galilee.  She  is  corseted,  and  I  wonder  whether  any 
great  work  can  ever  be  expecte<l  from  women  who  confine 
the  waist.  A  great  artist,  too,  must  be  an  anatomist,  and 
should  understand  these  things.     The  reader  will  please 


192  FRENCH  AND  BELGIANS. 

recall  the  picture  of  Rosa  Bonheiir,  with  her  arm  over  the 
neck  of  a  bull.  Paris,  however,  it  seems  to  me,  is  not 
remarkable  for  a  knowledge  of  anatomy  and  physiology  in 
the  |>eople  at  large.  Perhaps  they  have  not  had  popular 
writers  on  these  subjects,  like  George  and  Andrew  Combe. 
In  this  picture-gallery  is  the  celebrated  jjainting  of  the 
Conception,  by  Murillo.  The  young  la<ly  just  mentioned 
tells  me  that  the  French  government,  or  administration  of 
fine  arts,  paid  six  hundred  and  forty  thousand  francs  for  it. 
Yet  the  public  are  admitte<l  to  the  Louvre  Gallery  without 
charge ! 

After  leaving  the  Louvre,  I  see  a  sign  upon  the  Seine, 
" Great  National  Swimming-School  for  Ladies;"  and  upon 
the  frouL  of  the  wrecked  and  disfigured  Tuileries  we  read  : 
"  Republique  Fran9ais.  Liberty,  figalit^.  Fraternity."  The 
men  are  at  work  in  the  garden  of  the  Tuileri&s  preparing, 
with  their  wonderful  French  care,  for  the  great  festival  of 
Peace,  now  approaching.  I  ask  a  direction  from  a  man, 
who  inquires  whether  I  see  "  ce  monsieur  avec  un  panier." 
I  do  indeed  see  the  gentleman  who  is  carrying  a  basket 
upon  his  head. 

Victor  tells  me  what  the  festival  of  the  30th  of  June 
will  cost.  Tiie  city  of  Paris  gives  seventy-five  thousand 
francs,  and  the  general  government  two  hundred  thousand. 
He  says  that  there  will  be  fireworks  and  music,  garlands  of 
flowers  and  triumphal  arches,  and  he  adds  that  the  citizens 
of  Paris  will  probably  sjxjnd  al)out  eight  or  ten  millions  of 
fnincs  in  banners,  lanterns,  and  candles.  Was  it  not  rather 
aM>l  for  me  to  ask  him,  then,  "  What  is  the  debt  of  Paris?" 
His  statement  is  higher  than  one  I  saw  in  an  American 
pajMjr;   but  in  my  note-book  it  is  written  with  his  own 


PARIS.  193 

hand :  the  debt  of  Paris,  one  billion  seven  Imndred  rail- 
lions  of  francs,  or  about  three  hundred  and  forty  millions 
of  dollars.  If  the  population  of  Paris  be  two  millions,  we 
thus  have  a  de'bt  of  one  hundred  and  seventy  dollars  for 
every  man,  woman,  and  child  in  the  city !  The  debt  of 
France  Victor  gives  me  at  twelve  billions  of  francs,  or 
about  two  billion  four  hundred  million  dollars.  He  fur- 
ther says  that  France  has  an  army  of  four  hundred  and 
seventy  thousand  men,  each  costing  upon  an  average  nine 
hundred  francs  a  year,  or  about  eighty-four  million  six 
hundred  thousand  dollars.  To  public  school  education  he 
says  that  France  gives  about  eight  million  four  hundred 
thousand  dollars  yearly, — about  one-tenth  of  what  the  sol- 
diers cost !* 

Saturday,  June  22d. — It  has  been  said  to  be  but  one  step 
from  the  sublime  to  the  ridiculous,  and  I  find  it  written  at 
Paris  that  you  are  a  lucky  dog  if  you  spend  twenty-four 
hours  in  Paris  without  a  flea.  What  ought  to  be  the  con- 
dition of  those  who  do  not  change  their  undergarments  at 
night  nor  take  a  bath  ?  It  is  added  that  it  would  be  a  good 
plan  to  erect  scratch ing-posts,  as  we  hear  was  done  for  a 
nation  who  cried,  "  God  bless  the  duke  of  Buccleugh !" 
Why  should  I  find  a  flea  in  making  my  bed  ?     The  sheet, 


*  The  U)tal  public  debt  of  France  amounted  on  January  1,  1875, 
to  a  nominal  capital  of  eighteen  billion  seven  hundred  and  fifty-one 
million  six  hundred  and  eighty  live  thousand  six  hundred  and  forty- 
five  francs.  The  nominal  capital  of  the  debt  of  the  city  of  Paris  at 
the  end  of  September,  1878,  amounted  to  one  billion  nine  hundred 
and  seventy  million  francs.  To  this  was  added  a  loan,  issued  in 
December,  1878,  of  three  hundred  and  twenty-five  million  francs, 
raising  the  total  debt  to  two  billion  two  hundred  and  ninety-five 
million  francs. — Statesman's  Year-Book  for  1879,  Macmillan  &  Co. 


194  FRENCH  AND  BELGIANS. 

to  be  sure,  has  been  airing  at  the  window,  and  down  in  the 
court-yard,  down  three  flights  of  stairs,  is  a  stable,  but  I 
see  no  dogs  in  the  yard.  Often  at  night  a  flea  is  wandering 
round  me.  Victor  says  that  I  get  them  from  riding  in  the 
omnibus,  where  there  are  dirty  people;  but  I  do  not  find 
that  those  who  ride  in  carriages  are  all  exempt,  and  the 
company  in  the  omnibuses  is  as  good  or  better  than  in  the 
Philadelphia  horse-cars.  Nor  is  Paris  by  any  means  free 
from  certain  household  insects  that  are  troublesome  with 
us;  it  would  be  strange  if  it  were.  Yet,  if  I  may  judge 
from  tJje  quantities  of  prunes  that  France  ex|)orts,  this 
country  is  not  troubled  with  the  curculio,  or  plum-beetle. 
Happy  exemption !  Wiien  I  have  spoken  of  it  at  the 
Exposition,  no  one  has  seemed  to  know  it. 


To-day  I  |iay  my  third  and  last  visit  to  the  girls'  normal 
school.  The  door  upon  the  street  is  closed  as  usual.  I 
ring,  and  it  o))ens  in  that  invisible  manner  strange  to  the 
new-comer,  but  which  I  know  is  by  a  cord  or  sometlnng 
pulled  from  within.  Entering,  I  tell  the  concierge  that  I 
wish  to  visit  tiie  school.  "  Ah,"  she  says,  "  you  wish  to 
see  mademoiselle;  I  will  ring."  (In  none  of  my  visits  am 
I  introtluced  to  raadame  the  j)rincipal.  I  hear  of  lier  not 
being  well ;  also  of  her  attending  the  examinations  at  the 
Luxembourg.)  The  concierge  rings  two  loud  strokes,  and 
I  stand  at  the  door  of  the  main  building  and  wait  in  the 
sun.     I  must  try  again. 

It  is  the  instruction  in  natural  sciences  that  I  desire  to 
hear  to-day.  Miss  S.,  the  attentive  superintendent,  tells 
me  tiiat  during  the  first  year  the  pupils  are  taught  anatomy 
and  physiology ;  during  the  second,  l)otany  and  physics 
(I  understand  her  to  say  as  far  as  dynamic  electricity) ;  and 


PARIS.  195 

during  the  third  year,  the  continuation  of  physics  and 
chemistry.  Mi&s  Masson  gives  a  lesson  to-day  on  botany, 
illustmted  by  sweet-peas,  mushrooms,  and  bluets,  and  by 
drawing  on  the  blackboard  by  one  of  the  pupils.  Miss 
Masson  also  puts  one  of  the  pupils  into  the  chair  to  lecture 
upon  vegetable  nutrition.  I  ask  Miss  S.,  the  superintend- 
ent, what  is  the  office  of  the  young  lady  who  was  pre- 
siding in  the  class-room  when  we  entered,  at  about  nine  in 
the  morning.  She  answers,  "It  is  the  study-mistress  of 
the  second  year.  She  watches  over  the  discipline  of  the 
class  during  the  whole  day,  and  sleeps  in  the  dormitory  of 
her  pupils.  If  they  desire  information  during  their  studies, 
she  gives  it  to  them  ;  there  is  a  mistress  for  each  class."  I 
inquire  the  age  of  the  oldest  pupil  here.  "Twenty,"  is  the 
answer:  "they  are  all  between  seventeen  and  twenty." 

I  receive  permission  to  put  a  few  questions  to  this  class, 
which  is  the  second.  A  question  upon  the  possessions 
of  Great  Britain  is  very  minutely  answered,  but  with 
one  important  omission;  a  simple  question  in  mental 
arithmetic  is  readily  answered  ;  the  questions,  What  are 
the  outlets  for  the  waste  matter  of  the  system  ?  in  what 
manner  does  it  pass  from  the  lungs  ?  and  in  what  from  the 
skin?  this  class  is  not  prepared  to  answer.  What  was 
Napoleon's  prediction  ?  The  answer  is  said  to  be  unknown. 
To  the  following  question  I  am  told  they  cannot  reply,  but 
jirobably  there  are  few  young  women  of  the  same  age  in 
our  own  country  that  can,  as  we  do  not  teach  generally 
from  the  great  book  of  nature:  When  the  moon  is  in  her 
last  quarter,  where  and  when  is  she  to  be  seen? 

Miss  S.  speaks  favorably  of  the  infant  school  connected 
with  their  establishment,  which  is  taught  in  the  manner  of 
Froebel, — i.e.,  the  kindergarten.  This  school  looks  inter- 
esting, but  I  find  among  the  boys  top-heavy  foreheads  in 


196  FRENCH  AND  BELGIANS. 

greater  proportion  than  I  have  ever  before  observed  among 
the  French.  I  point  out  two  or  three  to  tlie  teacher,  and 
in  the  manner  that  is  quite  common  here,  she  says, 
"Those  children  are  never  iiealthy."  (Can  it  be  that  the 
manner  of  Froebel  calls  too  much  upon  the  brain?)  The 
way  of  speaking  about  the  pupils  as  if  they  could  not 
hear,  or  could  not  be  affected  by  what  they  hear,  is  the  one 
to  which  I  have  above  allude^l.  I  was  impressed  with  the 
different  manner  of  the  nun  in  the  infant  school  before 
mentioual :  with  delicticy  she  called  upon  certain  little 
ones,  to  show  wiiich  were  boru  outside  the  law. 

Before  parting  finally  with  Miss  S.,  the  attentive  super- 
intendent of  the  normal  school,  I  speak  to  her  about  our 
admitting  the  public  to  our  schools,  and  endeavor  to  show 
her  that  to  exclude  the  people  from  the  public  schools  in 
our  country  would  be  like  excluding  the  king  in  old 
France. 

This  evening,  when  Victor  and  I  are  going  to  a  lecture, 
madame  is  ready  to  cry.  "  I  am  always  alone,"  she  says. 
Victor  answers,  jestingly,  "Very  well,  my  child,  wilt  thou 
go?"  I  say  somethiug  about  my  being  able  to  take  care 
of  the  baby,  but  she  replies,  "  You  are  not  always  in 
Paris;"  and  with  these  people  to  live  in  Paris  doubtless 
apjx?ars  to  be  the  summit  of  earthly  living:  some  other 
|)eople  seem  to  agree  with  them,  too. 


I  know  not  how  much  the  idea  is  worth,  but  it  litis 
struck  me  lately  that  these  court-yards,  with  their  stables, 
etc.,  are  the  mode  of  living  of  the  old  French  nobility. 
Take,  for  instance,  the  place  whei-e  we  live:  the  large 
house  that  faces  on  the  Rue  de ,  and  has  its  back  win- 


PARIS.  197 

dows  looking  on  this  court-yard,  we  will  call  the  house  of 
the  marquis.  Here  upon  the  court-yard  are  the  stable  and 
coach-house,  and  this  building,  of  which  we  occupy  a  por- 
tion, may  be  that  of  his  principal  retainer,  or  retainers, 
lodged  out  of  the  house. 


A  young  man  I  know,  lately  received  a  letter  in  an 
official  envelope,  postage  unpaid.  When  he  opened  it,  it 
contained  the  notice  of  his  child's  birth  returned  to  him, 
with  additional  remarks.  He  is  an  ardent  republican,  and 
thus  his  notices  were  worded : 

"  French  Republic  1 
"  Liberty,  Equality,  Fraternity  ! 

"  Mr.  and  Mrs. have  the  honor  of  informing  you 

of  the  birth  of  their  daughter,  Anita  Elisa  Liberta. 
"Paris, ,  1878." 

The  following  is  added  by  the  anonymous  writer  in  a 
kind  of  mock  Italian,  Anita  l)eing  the  name  of  the  wife 
of  Garibaldi :  "  The  poor  little  one,  is  she  baptized  like 
her  papa?  Oh,  la,  la!  Long  live  the  Church!"  Then 
there  is  a  line  crossed  out  which,  my  acquaintance  says,  is 
"and  the  priests."  Was  it  not  adding  injury  to  insult  to 
make  him  pay  the  postage  on  this  missive?  As  to  the 
official  envelope,  it  is  out  of  date. 


198  FRENCH  AND  BELGIANS. 


CHAPTER    XIII. 

Sunday  morning,  June  23d. — Madame  Leblanc  mns  out 
this  morning  in  her  water-proof  cloak,  and  without  a  lx)n- 
net,  to  do  some  errands,  and  accompanies  her  husband  to 
the  omnibus.  "  It  was  full !"  she  says.  "  But  if  we  go  to 
Asni^res?"  I  ask.  "We  can  take  the  railway,"  she  re- 
plies. "At  this  hour,"  she  adds^  (it  is  about  nine),  "  there 
are  no  omnibuses  nor  hired  carriages  to  be  had  !  Without 
the  railway  it  is  impossible  to  travel  on  Sundays  at  this 
time ;  it  is  desolating !" 


A  friend  has  lent  to  me  a  volume  of  Galignani,  of  the 
year  1873.  It  says  that  the  whole  number  of  births  in 
Paris  by  the  latest  return  (1869)  was  54,397 ;  of  these, 
15,366  were  illegitimate,  of  which  3509  were  recognized 
by  their  parents.  More  than  one-fourth  of  the  births  in 
this  gi*eat  city  illegitimate;  only  about  one-fourth  of  these 
illegitimate  children  recognized  by  their  parents!  Of  deaths 
there  were  45,872,  of  whom  12,170  died  in  hospitals,  alms- 
Ijouses,  and  prisons;  more  than  one-fourth!  Galignani 
also  says,  "  It  has  been  remarked  tliat  families  constantly 
residing  in  Paris  soon  become  extinct."  In  another  part 
of  this  volume  will  be  found  statistics  on  one  of  the  above 
points,  obtaiueil  at  tiie  Exposition. 


Monday,  June  26/A. — May  1  be  allowed  to  say  that  I 
have  not  had  the  pleasure  of  seeing  a  fire  here,  nor  any  fire- 


PARIS.  J  99 

apparatus  tearing  through  the  streets  ?  I  do  see  down  our 
street,  in  the  pavement,  an  iron  plate,  labelled  "  Mouth  for 
fire."  Also,  at  a  great  barrack,  I  have  seen  the  words 
Sapeurs,  Pompiers ;  and  I  am  told  that  the  sapeurs  are  to 
cut  away  the  burning  wood  with  their  hatchets,  and  the 
pompiers  to  pump  water.  Madame  Leblanc  says  that  more 
fires  occur  in  winter,  and  also  in  factories  where  there  are 
steam-engines,  and  in  saw-mills.  She  adds  that  sometimes 
houses  take  fire  from  the  chimneys  not  being  cleaned.  That 
the  chimneys  in  new  houses  are  so  small  that  children  can- 
not climb  them  she  considers  an  advantage,  for  she  says 
that  it  was  barbarity.  Victor  afterwards  tells  me  that  they 
have  large  fires  here,  that  burn  four  or  five  houses !  The 
small  amount  of  fuel  used,  the  excellence  of  a  great  part  of 
the  buildings,  constructed  of  stone,  and  the  great  care  of  the 
French,  doubtless  help  to  protect  them  from  devastating 
fires. 

I  have  another  dressmaker, — a  democratic  one.  She 
calls  to  see  me  about  some  sewing  I  want  done ;  and  to 
narrate  her  conversation  will  help  to  portray  the  Parisian 
mind.  I  mention  one  of  my  frfends  who  was  Protestant, 
but  has  become  Catholic.  To  my  surprise,  she  replies,  "She 
has  left  the  truest  religion  to  take  up  the  most  false."  It 
is  a  strange  question  after  what  she  has  said,  but  I  ask, 
"Are  you  a  Catholic?"  "I  am  a  free-thinker,"  she  re- 
plies; "  I  accept  no  dogmas  that  cannot  be  proved;  what 
I  desire  is  truth."  She  tells  us  that  on  Sunday,  which  was 
FUe-Dieu,  or  the  festival  of  the  holy  sacrament,  there  was 
a  procession  around  the  square  at  Batignolles,  and  mothers 
came  with  their  children,  bringing  nosegays  to  touch  the 
holy  sacrament,  to  have  the  nosegays  blessed.  "And  there 
has  been  a  remonstrance  got  up,"  she  adds,  "  and  I  signed 


200  FRENCH  AND  BELGIANS. 

it,  for  what  we  want  is  justice;  and  if  it  is  not  permitted  to 
have  a  procession,  and  carry  a  red  flag  with  tlie  words 
'  I»ng  live  the  Commune!'  neither  should  there  he  a 
blue  banner  with  'Long  live  the  Sacred  Heart!'"  If  the 
women  who  spoke  in  the  times  of  the  Commune  were  like 
her,  they  were  fluent.  She  speaks  also  of  some  lecture  that 
had  been  forbidden ;  and  while  on  th&se  topics,  she  says, 
"And  we  are  in  the  nineteenth  century,  at  Paris,  in  the 
most  enlightene<l  city  of  France;  what,  then,  must  it  be  in 
the  provinces?"  What  follows  rests  on  her  authority. 
"  One  of  my  daughters  went  to  the  communal  laic  school 

in   the  Rue ,  and  Mademoiselle ,  the  principal, 

said  to  the  child  that  her  mother  must  come  and  bring  her 
certificate  of  baptism,  because  she  was  old  enough  to  pre- 
pare for  the  first  communion.  I  answer  that  my  daughter 
will  not  commune,  and  that  I  don't  think  a  raistre&s  ought 
to  concern  herself  with  the  conscience  of- the  children. 
Then  the  mistress  made  the  child  suffer  every  species  of 
vexation,  deprived  her  of  rewards  for  her  studies,  such  as  are 
usually  given,  medals,  and  so  forth,  and  even  prevented  her 
going  to  the  cabinet.  I  took  her  away  from  the  school,  and 
put  her  to  a  Protestant  one.  Now  she  says  the  prayer  with 
the  other  children,  and  once  a  week  learns  the  sacred  his- 
tory, but  is  not  obliged  to  go  to  church.     In  the  communal 

school,  conducted  by  the  Sisters,  Rue ,  the  girls  are 

oblige<l  to  sew  two  hours  a  day;  sewing  is  taken  in  from 
The  Spring"  (a  great  store),  "ayd  the  Sisters  receive  the 
money."  If  Madame  Simon,  as  I  will  call  the  dressmaker, 
is  correct,  what  is  the  remedy  for  these  things?  Is  not  one 
preventive  to  invite  the  public  to  visit  these  communal  or 
public  schools? 

Madame  Ix;blanc  inquires  of  Madame  Simon  concerning 
another  daughter,  and  she  replies  that  she  put  her  to  work 


PARIS.  201 

with  a  stranger,  because  she  was  not  sufficiently  diligent  at 
home,  adding,  "I  do  not  like  idlers, — Je  n'aime  pas  les 
jianeuses" 

I  have  called  Paris  the  great  hotel  of  the  world  ;  but  the 
passenger,  the  traveller,  who  stays  over-night,  or  even  for  a 
week,  in  the  parlor  and  handsome  bedroom  of  a  well-kept 
hotel,  what  does  he  know  of  the  contentions,  the  heart- 
burnings, the  debts,  the  trials,  the  jealousies,  of  the  land- 
lord's family?  Nay,  how  much  does  he  care  for  them,  so 
long  as  the  meals  and  the  rooms  are  in  good  order  ? 


I  go  to  see  the  shoemaker  about  my  shoes,  and  he  tells  me 
that  the  men  do  not  work  on  Monday  (or  not  regularly), 
that  they  would  rather  work  on  Sunday, — rather  than  go  to 
church.  They  spend  Monday  at  the  wine-shop,  and  wives 
and  children  must  sometimes  suffer.  As  usual,  his  wife  is 
in  the  store,  and  one  of  them  speaks  of  the  men's  getting 
good  wages  and  spending  them.  They  tell  me  of  the  ex- 
cellent traits  of  their  little  boy,  who  has  become  reconciled 
to  leaving  the  country,  and  who  is  now  with  his  grand- 
parents near  the  Luxembourg.  He  is  gentil,  or  sweet; 
he  is  tractable.  The  shoemaker  and  his  wife  are  quite 
handsome  young  people ;  but  she  does  not  dress  much.  I 
suppose  that  such  persons,  shut  up  in  close  quarters,  go 
out  of  the  house  for  amusement. 


This  evening  one  of  our  acquaintances,  Madame 


comes  to  see  us,  but  will  not  dine;  however,  she  accepts 
a  biscuit  or  little  sponge-cake  and  some  wine.  Victor 
expresses  his  delight  in  certain  wines.  We  speak  of 
women's  drinking  too  much,  and  Madame says  that 


202  FRENCH  AND  BELGIANS. 

an  enormous  quantity  get  drunk  in  her  country,  the  C6te 
d'Or,  where  wine  is  made.  However,  inorm^meiil  seems 
to  be  a  favorite  Frencli  expression,  as  many  at  home 
say  "immense."  I  tell  them  that  I  saw  women  yesterday 
who  looketl  as  if  they  had  been  drinking  a  good  deal,  but 
that  I  do  not  see  men  staggering  (for  I  have  not  often  seen 
}>eople  drunk).  They  tell  me  that  the  law  allows  drunken 
men  to  be  apprehended  and  fined,  and  for  the  third  oifence 
to  lose  their  right  of  citizenship. 

I  understand  Madame to  speak  of  two  b^guines,  or 

nuns,  having  come  to  see  her  to  ask  for  things,  and  that 
she  excused  herself  on  the  ground  of  having  nothing  to 
give,  for  they  might  give  you  a  bad  name  among  your 
neighbors. 

They  talk  about  the  Church  or  the  mass,  and  Madame 

says  how  tiresome  high  mass  was;  she  tells,  too,  what 

a  priest  once  said  to  her  at  the  confessional,  which  I  will 
omit.  Victor  says  that  he  once  disguised  himself  at  carni- 
val-time in  a  girl's  dress.  He  confessed  to  the  priest  that 
he  had  done  so,  for  it  is  against  the  rule.  What  this  priest 
said  I  will  also  omit.  Madame  Leblanc,  on  her  part,  has 
no  revelations  to  make.  The  stories  that  Victor  and  Ma- 
dame   tell,  portraying  the  state  of  society  among  men 

and  women,  I  do  not  even  note  down.     While  they  are 

talking  on  religious  subjects,  Madame  says,  "Don't 

you  believe  in  God?"  as  if  he  is  wrong  or  unfortunate. 
Victor,  in  reply,  brings  up  his  argument  about  good  peo- 
ple's being  in  misery  as  against  the  belief  in  a  merciful 
and  all-i>owerful  God ;  and  as  to  immortality,  he  says  that 
he  believes  that  bad  people  will  pass  away,  but  that  such 
|)eople  as  Madame  Car|)entier,  his  late  friend,  will  live  in 
the  memories  of  their  friends.  Here  some  one  might  have 
&sked  him,  "  What   alx)ut  that  kennel  of  Napoleons  of 


PARIS.  203 

which   you   formerly  spoke?     Will  they  not  live  in  the 
memory  of  man?" 

One  of  my  acquaintances  tells  me  lately  of  the  trouble 
that  he  had  in  getting  out  a  French  translation  of  a  work 
by  Garibaldi :  one  or  more  printers  struck  off'  a  few  pages, 
and  then  gave  it  up  for  fear  of  penalties.  As  the  work 
gives  an  account  of  Garibaldi's  regiment  in  Italy,  I  do 
not  see  the  objection  to  its  being  published  here ;  but  I  am 
told  that  it  is  republican.  "  But  you  are  a  republic,"  I 
reply.  "Garibaldi  speaks  against  the  priests,"  continues 
my  acquaintance,  "and  Figaro  discouraged  the  public 
from  subscribing,  saying  that  it  was  not  likely  that  the 
book  would  appear."  When  at  last  a  printer  was  found, 
then  money  was  advanced  on  the  printing.  "  B.,"  he 
adds,  "was  a  wonderful  help,  and  also  his  bonne  [or 
woman-servant],  who  worked  with  us  until  two  in  the 
morning," — sending  off^  copies,  I  suppose. 

The  law  requires  that  copies  of  new  works  shall  be  sent 
to  a  certain  government  official,  and  one  of  my  acquaint- 
ances tells  me  how  he  managed  to  get  a  book  through 
without  running  the  risk  of  this  censorship.  As  soon  as 
volumes  were  ready,  he  would  pack  them  off"  to  one  place 
of  de|X)sit  or  another,  and  when  the  edition  was  out,  he 
sent  in  his  specimens  to  the  official;  but  it  was  then  too 
late  to  seize  them,  even  if  the  government  had  been  so 
inclined,  which,  in  this  case,  I  do  not  learn  that  it  was. 


Tuesday,  June  '25th. — One  of  Victor's  acquaintances  is 
dead,  and  he  has  received  an  invitation  to  the  funeral.  It 
is  printed  upon  a  large  sheet  of  paper  with  broad  black 
margins,  and  is  expressed   nearly  as  follows :   "  You  are 


204  FRENCH  AND  BELGIANS. 

begged  to  assist  iu  the  escort,  service,  and  interment  of 
Mr.  Einanuel-Pros[)er  Renou,  deceased  the  24tli  of  June,  at 
the  age  of  forty -seven  years,  in  his  domicile.  Rue  de  Bonse- 
cours.  Which  will  take  place  Tuesday,  June  25th,  at  four 
o'clock,  very  exactly,  in  the  church  St.  Martin,  his  parish. 
To  meet  at  the  mortuary  house.     De  Profundis!     On  the 

part  of  his  family,  and  of  Messrs.  ,  his  associates." 

Here  are  ^iven  the  names  of  eight  persons  with  whom  he 
was  connected  in  business.  It  will  be  observed  that  the 
interment  is  to  take  place  the  day  after  the  death.  I 
wonder  whether  this  can  be  owing  to  persons  living  in 
such  close  or  crowded  apartments?  But  then  I  ol)serve 
afterwards  that  the  same  custom  prevails  in  central  France. 
The  use  of  ice  in  Paris  has  been  hitherto  greatly  limited 
in  comparison  with  ours;  this  may  have  some  effect  in 
this  matter.  As  regards  the  funeral  just  mentioned,  it 
will  observed  that  it  was  in  a  church.  Strong  republicans, 
or  those  greatly  opposed  to  the  Church,  do  not  desire  these 
religious  funerals,  which  are  a  source  of  income  to  the 
clergy. 

In  walking  the  streets  lately,  I  saw  a  grated  door  with 
the  words,  "Succor  for  the  wounded;"  and  in  the  half-light 
within  were  to  be  seen  several  men, — a  part  or  all  of  them 
in  uniform.  What  a  consolation  I  If  you  are  crushed  by 
the  horse  and  carriage  of  any  of  these  dasiiing  drivers,  here 
is  succor !  But  is  it  not  strange  that  such  driving  should  be 
IKjrmitted  by  such  a  careful  j)eople  on  such  crowded  streets? 
Is  it  the  relic  of  a  time  when  men  who  walked  were  of 
little  consequence  in  comparison  with  men  who  rode? 

I  have  seen  some  cars  and  horses  about  as  shabby  as  our 
own, — those  of  the  North  Paris  Street  Railway;  but  the 
liorses  of  tiie  omnibus  which  I  take  to-<lay — that  from  St. 


PARIS.  205 

Augustine's  to  tlie  Pantlieon — are  magnificent  speciniens. 
Two  women  who  are  in  the  omnibus  wear  no  bonnets,  but 
peculiarly-shaped  caps.  A  lady  tells  me  that  they  are  Bre- 
tons. They  are  neatly  dressed ;  perhaps  they  have  come 
to  the  Expasition.  They  wear  black  sacks,  they  carry  silk 
umbrellas,  and  one  of  them  has  ear-rings. 


As  I  am  going  into  the  country,  I  want  to  try  and  pre- 
serve some  insects  to  take  home  to  America;  and  for  some 
time  I  have  been  trying  to  get  chloroform  wherewith  to 
stuj)efy  them.  There  is  a  druggist  upon  our  street,  and 
when  I  enter  the  shop  on  this  errand,  I  find  Mrs.  Apothe- 
cary at  a  little  side-desk,  seated  with  her  crocheting,  and 
the  account-book  open  before  her.  She  tells  me,  however, 
that  they  are  not  allowed  to  sell  a  very  small  quantity  of 
chloroform,  even  to  their  neighbors  or  friends,  without  the 
order  of  a  physician.  In  further  conversation  with  the 
apothecary's  wife,  I  learn  that,  in  case  of  the  death  of  her 
husband,  the  law  allows  her  a  year  in  which  to  settle  his 
estate;  but  she  says  that  women  have  no  right  in  France 
to  put  up  prescriptions  nor  to  prepare  medicines.* 

My  next  effort  at  obtaining  chloroform  is  by  writing  to 
the  doctor, — him  of  whom  I  have  before  spoken.  Victor 
tells  me  that  I  shall  not  be  able  to  get  an  order  from  him, 
but  we  will  see.  I  therefore  write  him  a  note,  and  wish  to 
enclose  a  return  stamp,  but  Victor  insists  that  this  is  not 
necessary,  or  is  not  the  custom.  I  write  to  the  doctor  that 
I  am  a  member  of  a  scientific  society,  and  that  I  want 
chloroform  to  kill   or  stupefy  insects.     Although  Victor 

*  Please  observe  what  is  said  hereinafter  upon  this  subjfect,  iri 
Part  II. 

10 


206  FRENCH  AND  BELGIANS. 

says  that  I  shall  not  get  it,  yet  I  am  sure  that  I  shall, 

for  can   I    not  go  to  Professor ,  of  the  College  of 

France, — him  to  whom  I  took  a  letter  of  introduction? 
I  also  write  to  ray  kind  American  friend,  who  has  been 
long  resident  here,  and  speak,  among  other  subjects, 
upon  this  chloroform  difficulty;  but,  although  she  quickly 
answers  my  letter,  I  find  nothing  in  her  reply  upon  this 
subject. 

Victor  is  right  so  far.  I  receive  no  answer  from  the 
doctor,  and  I  conclude,  instead  of  trying  the  professor,  to 
go  and  see  an  official  of  some  importance  in  this  depart- 
ment of  the  Seine, — one  whose  acquaintance  I  made  some 
time  ago.  I  will  not  tell  where  I  go,  but  when  I  arrive 
at  the  building,  I  do  not  find  him.  I  have  armed  myself 
in  coming  with  recommendations  which  I  brought  from 
our  own  country,  and  these  I  show  to  the  secretary  or  aid 
of  the  gentleman.  I  think  that  he  appreciates  the  situa- 
tion, for  he  takes  me  to  another  gentleman  in  the  same 
department.  When  I  show  the  latter  my  letters,  and  talk 
with  him,  how  pleasant  he  is! — doubtless  he  has  a  taste 
for  natural  science  himself, — and  he  tnkes  a  sheet  of  paper 
with  an  official  heading,  and  writes,  "  Mr.  M6nard,  will  he 

give  satisfaction  to  Mrs.  G ?"     (He  does  not  say  give 

chloroform  !)  Then  he  tells  me  where  I  shall  find  the 
druggist, — who  is  not  far  off, — and  I  do  find  him  in  his 
store.  He  is  a  pharmacian  of  the  first  class,  as  they  say  at 
Paris.  When  he  sees  my  note  from  the  official,  and  one 
or  more  of  my  credentials  from  home,  he  allows  an  as- 
sistant to  put  me  up  a  bottle  of  chloroform, — which  is  done 
in  a  very  careful,  nice  manner, — and  the  druggist  writes 
down  my  name  in  a  book.  He  tells  me  that  this  law  of 
France  concerning  poisons  was  |)assed  after  the  case  of 
Madame  I^afarge.     This  was  a  celebrated  trial  of  a  woman 


PARIS.  207 

for  poisoning  her  husband,  of  which  she  was  found  guilty, 
in  1840. 

The  druggist  tells  me  that  no  one  can  sell  certain  medi- 
caments in  France  without  a  diploma.  This  rule,  I  under- 
stand, does  not  include  the  simple  remedies  sold  by  the 
herborist, — such  things,  apparently,  as  Victor  has  in  his 
box, — but  applies  to  thase  who  sell  poisons,  and  probably  to 
those  who  compound  the  prescriptions  of  physicians.  Drug- 
stores in  Paris  are  not  large  and  showy.  Several  things 
that  our  druggists  sell  these  do  not, — no  mineral  water,  I 
think,  nor  brushes,  nor  perfumes.  For  these  last  you  go 
to  the  perfumer. 

The  druggist  who  sells  me  the  chloroform  is  an  agree- 
able person.  He  speaks  favorably  of  two  articles  in 
our  department  at  the  Exposition, — namely,  the  exhibit 
of  Tilden  &  Co.,  druggists,  of  New  York,  and  the  vege- 
table preparations  of  the  College  of  Pharmacy  of  Philadel- 
phia. 

When  I  return  to  our  apartments,  of  course  I  do  not 
refrain  from  showing  Victor  the  bottle  of  chloroform. 


To-day  I  visit  that  very  celebrated  church,  Notre  Dame. 
After  entering  I  observe  a  light  in  a  side-chaj)el,  that  of 
St.  Anne, — a  light  burning  before  the  altar,  and  beside 
it  an  ancient  piece  of  printing,  "Litanies  of  St.  Anne." 
There  is  a  long  list  like  the  following :  "  Saint  Anne,  root 
of  Jesse,  Saint  Anne,  fruitful  tree,  pray  for  us;  Saint 
Anne,  tongue  of  the  dumb,  Saint  Anne,  ear  of  the  deaf, 
pray  for  us."  After  the  long  litany  comes  this  prayer: 
"God,  all-powerful  and  eternal,  who  have  deigned  to 
choose  St.  Anne  to  be  the  mother  of  the  mother  of  your 
only  Son,  cause,  if  you  please,  that  as  we  thus  celebrate  her 


208  FRENCH  AND  BELGIANS. 

memory  we  attain  by  her  prayers  to  eternal  life.    By  Jesus 
Christ  our  Lord.     Amen." 

There  are  a  considerable  number  of  visitors  in  Notre 
Dame  to-day,  and  one  person  has  it  in  charge  to  escort  the 
English.  He  is  a  talkative  little  fellow,  but  his  remarks 
seem  to  be  framed  on  the  supj)osition  that  all  who  speak 
English  are  subjects  of  Great  Britain ;  though,  doubtless, 
he  is  not  ignorant  of  the  existence  of  our  great  republic. 
The  few  notes  that  I  gather  from  his  remarks  I  will  try 
to  form  into  a  connected  narrative.  He  tells  us  what 
those  disgusting  creatures,  the  Communists,  did, — how  they 
broke  the  heads  off  of  statues  here,  which  have  since  been 
repaired.  He  shows  us  the  elegant  vestments — twenty,  I 
think,  in  number — which  the  late  Empress  Eugenie  gave 
them,  and  another  magnificent  set  which  Najwleon  III. 
presented  at  the  baptism  of  his  son ;  also  a  golden  vessel 
which,  if  I  understand  aright,  he  says  contains  the  crown 
of  thorns, — a  present  from  Napoleon  I.  He  informs  us' 
that,  as  the  revolutionists  were  in  the  habit  of  taking  up 
the  bodies  of  the  kings  and  throwing  them  into  the  street, 
these  have  been  removed  to  some  distance  to  St.  Denis,  and 
now  there  is  a  fortification  there  or  upon  the  way ;  and, 
although  these  j>eople  like  the  smell  of  powder,  yet  it  is  at 
a  distance  that  they  like  it.  He  is  8|)eaking  English,  and 
an  English-s|)eaking  gentleman  inquires  of  him  whether 
Father  Hyacinth  did  not  preach  here.  But  this  question 
does  not  disconcert  him  much;  he  replies  immediately, 
intimating  that  that  individual  has  changed  his  coat;  but 
as  for  himself,  he  has  always  been  a  Bonapartist,  and  is 
one  still.  (Methinks  he  would  not  venture  upon  such  a 
discourse  in  French.)  He  offers  a  book  for  sale,  and  tells 
us  that,  as  it  was  written  by  himself,  we  may  be  sure  it  is 
not  republican.     Further,  he  shows  us  where  in  this  great 


PARIS.  209 

church  Mary,  Queen  of  Scots,  was  married  to  Francis  II., 
and  speaks  of  her  having  been  l)eheaded  by  the  amiable 
Quieen  Elizabeth  ;  he  also  remarks  how  many  of  their  late 
sovereigns  have  died  on  English  ground.  He  tells  us  of  a 
woman  who  during  the  Commune  mounted  a  pulpit  here, 
with  a  petroleum  torch  in  one  hand  and  a  knife  dropping 
blood  in  the  other,  expressing  a  wish  to  kill  all  the  priests; 
how  she  bad  been  apprehended  and  condemned  to  death ; — 
but,  as  we  do  not  like  to  execute  women  here,  how  she  was 
sent  to  New  Caledonia  to  compare  its  climate  with  that  of 
France.  We  must  not  expect  perfect  accuracy  from  guides. 
This  speech  gave  me  an  impression  that  the  climate  of  this 
penal  colony  in  the  Pacific  is  severe;  but,  looking  upon 
the  map,  I  find  it  to  be  within  the  tropics,  although  not 
near  to  the  equator.  As  to  the  bodies  of  the  kings,  I  have 
seen  a  statement  that  in  August,  1792,  the  French  Conven- 
tion passed  decrees  which  sent  the  populace  of  Paris  troop- 
ing to  St.  Denis  to  destroy  the  tombs  of  the  kings  and  to 
bury  their  remains  in  the  common  pit  or  ditch.  About 
two  months  later  they  forced  their  way  into  the  vaults  of 
the  Bourbon  kings,  and  even  the  body  of  the  great  Henry 
was  cast  into  the  yawning  trench. 

On  the  outside  of  Notre  Dame  there  are  statues  in  great 
abundance,  and  within  there  are  marble  monuments ;  but 
my  attention  was  particularly  attracted  by  a  funny  row  of 
colored  figures,  dark  or  mulatto  color,  in  one  of  the  large 
divisions  of  the  church,  I  think  beyond  the  rows  of  great 
chairs  for  church  dignitaries.  There  are,  indeed,  two  rows 
of  these  figures,  but  I  only  saw  one,  for  the  other  side 
seemed  to  be  locked.  These  figures  are  l)elow  life-size. 
The  first  represents  Christ,  resui'geiis,  appearing  to  Alary 
Magdalen,  then  to  the  holy  women,  afterwards  in  the 
garden  at  Emmaus.     One  peculiarity  of  these  is  the  jolly 


210  FRENCH  AND  BELGIANS. 

appearance  of  Clirist, — I  think  in  that  one  where  Thomas 
examines  his  side,  and  the  rest  of  the  disciples  are  seen 
standing  crowde<l  in  two  little  buildings,  one  on  each  side; 
you  see  them  through  the  open  windows.  Tiiese  are  not, 
I  have  supposed,  the  quickly  torn  down  and  soon  recon- 
structed statues  of  which  the  guide  spoke.  They  look  like 
vestiges  of  an  infantile  time  of  art.  Did  Mary  Stuart  look 
upon  them  when  she  was  queen  of  beautiful  France? 

I  have  before  spoken  of  the  printed  litany  of  St.  Anne 
which  I  saw  at  Notre  Dame.  There  was  also  displayed  an 
indulgence  offered  to  those  who  shall  pray  for  the  union  of 
Christian  princes,  the  extirpation  of  heresy,  and  the  glory 
or  pros|)erity  of  the  Church. 


To-day  I  call  ujwn  a  Philadelphia  lady,  marrie<l  to  Dr. 
P.,  a  German;  she  has  been  living  here  about  three  years. 
She  speaks  of  the  general  ignorance  of  Frenchwomen ;  she 
judges  from  what  she  hears  that  the  idols  of  the  upper  class 
are  the  Church  and  the  fashion, — not  but  that  some  of  them 
are  cultivate<l,  but  the  real  Parisians  are  extremely  conven- 
tional, and  if  your  apj)earance  is  not  fashionable  they  despise 
you,  or,  rather,  look  down  upon  you,  as  not  knowing  what 
is  what.  As  for  the  working-women,  she  judges  that  they 
are  fully  absorlnxl  in  their  business  and  families,  and  are 
not  so  much  interested  in  politics  as  our  women  are.  (Per- 
haps Mrs.  P.  is  sjwaking  of  shopkeepers,  for  I  have 
before  been  told  of  the  working- women's  Uiking  many  re- 
publican pai>ers.)  Mrs.  P.  adds  that  these  women  are  more 
under  the  influence  of  the  Church  than  their  husbands, 
and  induce  them  to  yield  to  things  which  they  other- 
wise would  not.  (For  myself,  I  believe  I  have  before 
ventured  a  suggestion  that  one  of  the  tilings  that  would 


PARIS.  211 

most  elevate  Frenchwomen  would  be  the  study  of  anatomy 
and  physiology.) 

While  I  am  here  Dr.  P.  comes  in,  and  in  conversation 
remarks  that  the  great  benefit  of  the  late  war  to  the  French 
people  was  that  the  idea  of  glory — of  ghire — was  thor- 
oughly knocked  out  of  their  heads.  I  tell  the  doctor  of 
the  difficulty  which  I  had  in  getting  chloroform ;  and  he 
says,  "  What  a  fear  these  people  have,  who  make  it  their 
business  to  kill,  that  some  one  will  be  killed!"  I  have 
before  said  that  he  is  German. 

On  arriving  at  our  apartments,  we  have  at  dinner  Mr. 
Leroux,  a  j)erson  of  scientific  taste.  As  is  almost  always 
the  case,  the  subject  of  religion  comes  up,  and  I  speak 
about  the  great  crucifix  which  I  saw  upon  the  shore,  before 
landing  at  Dieppe.  Mr.  Leroux  says  that  there  are  many 
of  these  in  the  country,  and  that  a  plate  is  put  upon  the 
structure  telling  who  has  erected  it.  He  says  that  it  is 
common  to  speak  of  them  as  "  the  good  God." 

I  tell  Victor  the  remark  just  made  by  Dr.  P.,  that  the 
great  benefit  of  the  war  to  the  French  was  that  the  idea  of 
ghire  was  thoroughly  driven  out  of  them.  Victor  agrees, 
saying  that  he  would  shake  hands  with  Dr.  P. 


June  2Qth  and  27th. — Now  that  the  weather  is  warmer 
we  are  drinking  eau  de  sellz,  a  sort  of  artificial  mineral 
water,  from  glass  bottles  called  siphons.  On  Sunday  I  go 
to  the  wine-shop  over  the  way  to  get  some  for  the  family, 
and  find  a  party  of  four,  seated  at  a"  table,  drinking  from 
the  little  glass  what  I  suppose  to  be  spirits.  One  of  the 
party  is  a  woman  with  a  red  face.  One  of  the  men  is  talk- 
ing in  an  animated  manner;  his  subject  appears  to  be  what 
constitutes  a  Catholic.     Victor,  madame,  and  I  this  day 


212  FRENCH  AND  BELGIANS. 

are  very  near  disagreeing  upon  the  subject  of  ice.  We 
have  wine  twice  a  day  witli  eau  de  seltz,  but  madarae  es- 
pecially op|)oses  ice-waler:  "  That  must  make  the  character 
cold, — that  must  cliill  the  heart."  However,  the  expression 
refroidit  Je  ooeur  is  a  euphemism,  the  heart  being  used  for 
the  stomach.  Perhaps  the  additional  expense  of  ice  is  an 
objection.  The  next  day,  however,  when  I  get  a  little  at 
the  creamery,  they  are  willing  to  partake,  and  seem  to  enjoy 
it.  Victor  said  lately  that  after  the  1st  of  July  it  will  be 
much  cheaper,  on  account  of  the  removal  of  the  duty.  At 
the  restaurants  I  see  struck  bottles — carafes  frappies — so 
filled  with  ice  that  it  must  necessarily  have  been  formed  in 
them;  and  at  the  Exposition  I  visit  a  building  where  ice  is 
being  formed  by  a  chemical  process. 


I  make  a  short  call  upon  Madame  Simon,  the  dressmaker; 
but  we  have  little  opjwrtunity  to  talk.  In  reply  to  a  ques- 
tion, she  says  that  the  prefect  of  the  Seine  and  the  prefect 
of  police  are  pachas.  The  municipal  councils  of  Paris 
have  not  the  right  to  say  we  will,  they  am  only  say  we 
desire.  The  Commune  wanted  to  establish  the  same  inde- 
pendence for  Paris  that  the  other  c^ommunes  have.  She 
states  that  the  cannon  from  Vei*saillcs  set  fire  to  buildings 
at  Paris ;  but  Victor  afterwards  says  that  it  is  no  use 
to  deny  that  the  Communists  destroyed  things.  "Some- 
times," he  adds,  "  there  were  private  hatreds,  as  when  a 
man  had  been  turned  out  by  his  landlord,  and  these  pri- 
vate hatre<ls  were  then  revenged."  One  of  Victor's  aunts 
was  killed  during  the  Commune.  She  saw  son)e  of  the 
destruction  that  was  going  on,  and  said,  "I  will  denounce 
you  when  the  Versaillists  come  in."  "  We  won't  wait  for 
tliat/'  was  the  answer,  and  she  was  shot  at  once. 


PARIS.  213 

Madame  Simon  spoke  of  the  other  communes.  What 
we  call  the  Commune  at  Paris,  the  French  often  call  the 
civil  war.  The  commune  in  France  may  be  said  to  corre- 
S[K)nd  with  our  township.  Beginning  with  the  commune, 
they  have  one  more  division  than  we:  first,  the  commune; 
second,  the  canton  ;  third,  the  arrondissement ;  fourth,  the 
department;  and,  fifth,  France.  We  have,  first,  the  town- 
ship; second,  the  county;  third,  the  state;  fourth,  the 
Unite*!  States;  but  our  system  of  federated  republics  is 
very  different  from  theirs.  Madame  the  dressmaker  added 
that  the  party  called  the  Commune  wished  to  prevent  the 
overthrow  of  the  republic. 


In  my  walks  I  visit  another  laundry,  the  Lavoir  Sainte 
Marie,  being  permitted  to  enter  and  see  it  for  myself.  The 
woman-cashier,  whose  business  seems  to  be  general  super- 
intendence, kindly  gives  me  permission.  She  tells  me  that 
the  clothes  received  are  made  up  into  bundles  and  ticketed, 
and  I  see  the  round  metallic  tickets  hanging.  They  are 
then  put  into  an  immense  tub  or  boiler  made  of  wood  and 
lined  with  copper :  put  into  cold  water  with  potash.  (I 
undei-stand  that  eau  de  Javel  is  also  used  here.)  Steam  is 
introduced,  and  they  are  boiled  or  steamed  during  the 
night,  and  in  the  morning  are  ready  to  be  taken  out.  At 
this  laundry  they  do  not  use  one  great  vessel  for  rinsing, 
but  have  separate  tubs.  I  go  up-stairs,  and  see  how  the 
drying  space  is  divided  into  separate  small  rooms  (with 
sides  made  of  slats),  in  which  the  clothes  are  hung,  each 
door  being  furnished  with  a  lock.  One  of  the  women  at 
work  below  says  that  they  receive  three  francs  a  day,  work- 
ing from  seven  in  the  morning  until  seven  in  the  evening. 
I  observe  that  some  of  them  are  eating ;  doubtless  they 

10* 


214  FRENCH  AND  BELGIANS. 

furnish  their  own  meals.  Thismethod  of  washing  we  can 
understand  to  be  an  economical  and  well-arranged  one  for 
a  country  where  fuel  is  so  scarce,  and  in  a  city  where  space 
is  so  desirable.  But  it  seems  to  me  that  our  housekeej)er8 
would  not  incline  to  put  their  family  wash  into  a  bundle 
and  send  it  to  be  steamed  with  similar  bundles  from  other 
families, — all  steamed  together  during  the  night  as  sent  to 
the  wash ;  at  least,  such  are  not  our  habits  now.  Let  us 
beware  in  our  different  surroundings  of  too  closely  imi- 
tating the  Parisians.  Why  should  our  children  be  brought 
up  in  flats,  and  not  have  a  bit  of  mother-earth  under  their 
feet?  

In  si)eaking  lately  to  an  American  friend  about  the 
volume  of  compositions  and  exercises  brought  from  the 
Philadelphia  Exposition  and  published  here,  she  tells  me 
that  some  of  them  have  appeared  in  the  Journal  des  Debats. 
She  likes  this  paper,  but  calls  it  too  republican.  I  ask 
Victor  about  it,  and  about  its  republicanism;  he  replies 
that  it  is  rose-water,  and  finishes  by  saying  that  it  is  not 
republican  at  all.     So  opinions  differ. 


One  of  my  Parisian  friends  will  have  the  tea  handed  to 
him  on  one  occasion,  made  paler;  and  will  have  some  spirits 
put  into  it.  Afterwards,  when  I  call  at  his  house,  he 
offers  me  coffee  and  rum  ;  perhaps  he  is  in  jest. 


Riding  in  the  omnibus,  I  copy  the  foUow^ing  from  a  bill 
put  u[)  therein :  "  For  sale,  every  morning,  T/u;  People, 
a  daily  |>olitical  journal.  It  publishes  a  great  |M>pular 
romance,  by  Draile  Richebourg,  author  of  The  Accursed 


PARIS.  215 

Daughter  and  The  Two  Q-adles,  having  for  title  The  Pa- 
risian Lovers, — Les  Amour euses  de  Paris.  Five  centimes 
the  number,"  being  nearly  one  cent.  Profitable,  cheap 
literature!  It  will  be  observed  that  I  have  not  exactly 
translated  the  title  of  the  "  great  popular  romance." 


CHAPTER    XIV. 

Friday,  June  28/A. — Going  down  our  street  this  morn- 
ing, I  overtake  a  woman  without  a  bonnet,  in  the  sun,  with 
a  large  load  in  her  outside  blue  apron,  held  up  by  having 
the  long  corners  tied  up  over  her  shoulder.  In  her  hands 
she  carries  three  extremely  long  loaves,  like  thick  poles, 
measuring  about  two  yards  in  length.  To  rest  herself,  she 
occasionally  sets  the  ends  of  the  loaves  upon  the  pavement, 
or  rests  them  against  the  wall.  Such  loaves  are  cut  into 
bits  for  customers  at  restaurants.  When  I  was  first  at 
Paris,  it  seemed  strange  to  see  people  carrying  loaves  of 
bread  without  a  basket  or  any  covering. 


Wishing  to  speak  to  Mr.  Carpentier,  I  lately  called  upon 
him,  and  found  him  busily  engaged  with  his  friends  Mr. 
B.  and  Mrs.  K.  in  preparing  matter  to  send  by  mail, — an 
article  which  he  has  written  and  published  upon  an  im- 
portant political  subject.  The  windows  of  the  room  were 
closed,  which  seemed  strange  to  me  in  such  fine  weather. 
Mr.  Car{>entier  accompanied  me  into  the  next  room  to  hear 
what  I  had  to  say,  and  when  we  came  out  I  remarked  that 
at  home  (in  America)  we  should  have  the  doors  and  win- 


216  FRENCH  AND  BELGIANS. 

dows  open, — Mr.  B.  wore  a  cloth  coat,  and  must  have  been 
warm  enough, — but  I  perceived  tliat  Mr.  Carpentier  was  not 
pleased  with  my  remark.  The  sojourner  at  Paris  can  scarcely 
fail  to  observe  how  much  is  said  about  currents  of  air. 
Victor  was  lately  at  the  furnace  in  our  little  kitchen,  and 
the  kitchen  door  was  open.  For  some  purpose  I  also  opened 
the  window,  when  he  made  a  great  outcry  :  "Oh,  niadame, 
you  make  a  current  of  air !    I  detest  currents  of  air  !" 

Although  it  seems  close  at  Mr.  Carpentier's,  I  offer  to 
help  direct  pamphlets ;  one  is  to  go  to  a  deputy  or  an  editor, 
and  I  ask  whether  I  shall  say  3Ion8ieur.  Mr.  Carpentier 
answers  that  they  do  not  trouble  themselves  about  that. 
"  But  when  you  were  with  me  that  Sunday,"  I  rejoin,  "you 
said,  *  Thank  you,  madame !'  to  the  charcoal- woman."  "  And 
why  not,  if  I  say  it  to  the  queen  ?"  says  Mr.  C.  Mr.  B., 
who  is  assisting,  is  a  native  of  Alsace  or  Germany,  and  I 
ask  him  why  the  French  do  not  advertise  in  the  papers ;  I 
might  have  said,  advertise  generally,  as  we  do.  Mr.  B. 
replies  that  he  has  often  asked  the  question,  but  it  is  not 
the  custom  to  do  so.  I  speak  of  the  amount  of  money 
which  our  pai)ers  make  by  advertisements;  and  Mr.  Car- 
pentier, being  |>erhaps  somewhat  vexed,  asks  a  question 
which  it  is  a  little  difficult  to  translate  for  these  pages: 
"  Ed  ce  qu^  on  donne  cliez  vous  des  rendezvous  gcdants  dans 
lesjoumauxf"  or,  "In  your  country,  do  lovers  make  ap- 
pointments in  the  papers?"  I  answer  lamely,  "The  per- 
sonals in  the  New  York  Herald." 

Perhaps  Mr.  Carpentier  considers  this  an  overwhelming 
argument. 

Saiurdayy  June  2dth. — On  this  delightful,  cool  morning, 
fresh  and  breezy,  at  alwut  half-past  eight,  I  meet  young 
Paris  going  to  the  public  schools. 


PARIS.  217 

I  pass  a  house  where  mourning  hangs  over  the  entrance, 
and  within  is  a  bier  covered  with  black,  before  which  are 
standing  candles;  a  youth  who  goes  by  lifts  his  hat,  and 
two  women  cross  themselves. 

Upon  a  sidewalk  sits  a  man  apparently  very  drunk.  In 
another  place  a  man  has  a  number  of  tin  or  iron  utensils 
which  look  bright,  as  if  just  scoured.  However,  his  busi- 
ness is  to  plate  them,  or  to  submit  them  to  a  process  which 
I  do  not  understand.  He  charges  five  cents  for  thus  dress- 
ing up  a  knife  and  fork. 


To-morrow  will  be  the  great  festival  of  Peace.  I  see 
my  shoemaker  making  a  flag,  a  tri-color,  and  ask  him 
whether  he  is  a  republican.  He  answers  that  he  is  of  no 
party,  but  he  wants  to  maintain  the  glory  of  his  country. 
He  or  his  wife  says  that  the  main  point  is  to  earn  their 
living.  I  have  quite  a  long  opportunity  in  the  shop  to  talk 
alone  with  her,  and  I  ask  what  wages  the  men  can  earn 
who  make  the  shoes.  She  answers  that,  in  making  shoes,  or 
ladies'  boots  with  leather  heels,  a  good  workman,  if  his 
wife  helps  him,  can  earn  eight  to  ten  francs  a  day.  But  in 
shoes  with  Louis  XV.  lieels,  which  are  made  of  wood  and 
coveretl  with  leather,  and  which  are  difficult  to  make,  he 
can  earn  on  an  average  ten  to  twelve  francs.  "  These  heels," 
she  says,  "are  very  hurtful  to  women :  they  injure  the  health 
enormously.  Women  of  bad  life,  who  take  away  all  the 
husbands  and  cause  them  to  beat  their  wives,  wear  heels 
extremely  high,  and  these  injure  their  health  so  much  that 
they  cannot  live  long.  I  cannot  understand,"  she  continues, 
"  how  these  women  can  attract  husbands  from  their  wives. 
There  are  many  of  them  in  our  quarter,  and  if  you  look 
at  them  they  insult  you.     Three-fourths  of  the  rich  at  Paris 


218  FRENCH  AND  BELGIANS. 

have  mistresses,  who  sometimes  spend  the  dowry  of  their 
wives.  I  know  a  beautiful  countess,  who  tells  me  when  siie 
sees  my  children,  '  Oh,  if  I  could  have  a  baby  !'  but  very 
often  the  rich  do  not  have  children.  Sometimes  married 
women  will  debauch  another  household.  Paris  is  very 
pretty,  it  is  comfortable,  but  little  discreet  in  its  homes, 
— dans  les  manages."  In  speaking  of  men's  being  false  to 
their  wives,  she  asks,  "  Is  it  so  in  your  country,  madarae?" 
I  give  her  some  answer  to  this  effect:  that  I  live  in  the 
country,  where  people  are  very  simple  in  their  way  of  liv- 
ing, or  where  such  things  are  almost  unknown.  She  goes 
on  to  say  that  foreigners  who  come  here  with  their  wives 
must  have  a  great  deal  of  virtue,  not  to  allow  themselves 
to  be  drawn  away  by  other  women,  because  there  will  be 
fifty  opportunities.  She  is  a  pretty  young  woman,  and  she 
does  not  see  what  is  the  attraction  that  draws  husbands 
away.  I  ask  her  whether  there  being  so  many  soldiers 
here  is  not  a  cause  of  this  state  of  affairs,  or  there  being  so 
many  public  women.  She  says  no;  that  these  women  seek 
persons  who  are  carrying  on  business,  who  have  money. 
They  might  seek  the  officers ;  but  it  is  the  bonnes  (servants) 
who  go  with  the  soldiers;  the  bonnes  are  not  much.  I  in- 
quire about  servants'  wages.  Siie  says,  "  Me,  I  give  to  my 
domestic  thirty-five  francs  and  her  food," — doubtless  by  the 
month, — "  but  there  are  many  persons  who  give  fifty  francs, 
and  fed,  washed,  and  lodged." 


At  Leblanc's,  we  are  Sj>eaking  lately  of  marriage,  and 
Victor  s{)eaks  thus :  "  The  generation  of  the  Empire  was 
accustomed  to  flutter  like  butterflies  from  one  lost  woman 
to  another,  and  did  not  wish  to  be  burdened  with  wives 
and  children." 


PARIS.  219 

Victor  says,  lately,  that  the  Americans  have  stolen  Victor 
Hugo's  works;  they  have  translated  them  and  paid  him 
nothing.  Victor's  wife  improves  the  occasion  by  saying 
that  she  would  not  like  to  make  money  by  stealing;  she 
would  rather  live  on  a  crust  of  bread. 


This  evening,  as  Victor  and  I  are  going  to  Mr.  Carpen- 
tier's,  we  pass  a  hack-stand,  and  see  a  man  and  woman, 
probably  newly  arrived,  and  for  the  coming  festival.  A 
coachman  jumps  down  from  his  seat,  and  with  joyful  eager- 
ness greets  the  man,  kissing  him  upon  each  cheek, — the  man 
thus  greeted  having  gray  whiskers.  Victor  jokes  upon  the 
subject  with  a  woman  going  by, — a  woman  in  a  cap,  instead 
of  a  bonnet. 

At  Mr.  Carpentier's  we  talk  about  corporal  punishment 
or  whipping,  which,  I  understand,  is  forbidden  in  French 
schools,  as  well  as  in  the  army  and  navy.  One  of  the  gen- 
tlemen present  makes  a  remark,  which  does  not  quite  please 
nie,  about  his  having  advised  a  boy  to  strike  a  teacher  who 
should  strike  him.  I  have  before  mentioned  that  the  law 
grants  to  a  woman  a  separation  from  her  husband  if  he 
strikes  her;  nevertheless,  the  shoemaker's  wife  spoke  of 
husbands  beating  their  wives  and  Victor  says  that  there 
are  wives  who  beat  their  husbands. 


Sunday,  June  SOth. — The  day  of  the  great  festival,  and 
splendid  cool  weather  after  last  night's  heavy  rain.  Victor 
is  in  very  good  spirits.  On  account  of  the  f(§te  he  has  in 
his  coat  an  artificial  flower, — a  three-colored  flower,  of  red, 
white,  and  blue:  quite  an  anomaly, — price^two  sous,  and  of 
course  cheaper  to  the  citizen  than  three  flowers,  a  red,  a 


220  FRENCH  AND  BELGIANS. 

white,  and  a  blue.  This  morning  I  observe  that  photo- 
graphs of  the  Coliseum,  etc.,  are  gone  from  my  room. 
Madame  tells  me  that  they  are  in  the  dining-room,  and  I 
say  that  they  are  prettier  than  the  pictures  that  were  there 
of  the  battles  of  Alexander.  She  replies  that  those  are  fine 
engravings;  but  that,  as  they  do  not  love  battles,  they  have 
hung  up  these.  Victor  is  a  member  of  the  League  of  Peace 
and  Liberty,  and  to-day  we  are  celebrating  a  festival  of 
Peace,  which  France  gives  to  other  nations  assembled  here. 


This  afternoon  I  dine  with  my  American  friend.  Among 
other  subjects  we  speak  of  the  theatre,  and  she  says  that 
she  should  go  oftener  were  it  not  so  expensive.  A  good 
seat,  she  adds,  costs  from  six  to  ten  francs ;  and  if  you  are 
much  dressed  you  want  a  carriage,  which,  going  and  re- 
turning, costs  aboul^  eighty-two  cents.  Then  you  pay 
sometiiing  to  the  x^estih'e,  or  woman  who  takes  care  of 
your  clotlies,  gives  you  a  footstool,  and  hands  the  pro- 
gramme. At  the  Theatre  Fran9ais  secured  seats  are  nine 
francs;  for  the  second  gallery,  probably  seven;  and  for 
gentlemen  in  the  parquet,  seven.  For  the  grand  o|)era, 
secured  scats  in  the  amphitheatre  are  seventeen  francs;  if 
not  8ecure<l,  fifteen ;  and  run  down  to  six  francs  or  less  as 
you  go  upwards  in  the  building.  She  adds  that  there  are 
here  very  nice  concerts  in  the  afternoon  and  evening  at  two 
dollars. 

I  understand  from  Victor  that,  although  nearly  twenty- 
five  years  old,  he  has  visited  the  theatre  only  five  or  six 
times. 

When  I  lejive  ray  friend's  house,  at  about  ten  in  the 
evening,  the  streets  are  a  beautiful  show,  with  quantities 
of  colored  lanterns  susixjnded  by  private  individuals;  fire- 


PARIS.  221 

works,  too,  by  the  same ;  tlie  elegant  dome  of  St.  Augus- 
tine's church  magnificently  illuminated  with  gas;  at  some 
distance  the  illuminated  top  of  the  Trinity,  and  a  straight 
line  of  light  marking  the  top  of  the  Madeleine.  I  see  a 
man  and  woman  standing  in  a  doorway,  and  stop  to  speak 
to  her.  He  also  speaks  very  pleasantly;  I  suppose  them 
to  be  the  concierge  and  his  wife.  I  ask  him  whether  he 
has  seen  the  Place  de  la  Concorde  (which  I  had  visited  at 
the  illumination  on  the  opening  of  the  Exposition).  He 
has  not;  but  he  thinks  that  the  Chann)s  Elys6es  must  be 
ravishing,  and  that  it  is  desirable  for  me  to  see  them.  I 
speak  of  being  alone,  but  he  answers,  "  Do  you  see  this 
quantity  of  people?  It  will  be  so  until  two  or  three  in  the 
morning,  and  no  fear."  People  can  be  seen  walking  in 
the  middle  of  the  street  (I  suppose  that  most  of  the  car- 
riages have  gone  to  the  great  centres  of  attraction):  here 
are  three  or  four  young  men  together;  here  staid  mar- 
ried people;  there  half  a  dozen  young  women,  arm-in- 
arm, across  the  street.  It  is  the  festival  of  Peace  which 
France  is  giving  to  foreign  nations.  I  am  repeatedly  re- 
minded of  Campbell's  line, — 

*'  And  let  festive  cities  blaze," 

and  I  doubt  whether  the  world  ever  saw  a  finer  and  more 
general  illumination.  I  am  three  times  as  long  as  is  neces- 
sary making  my  way  home.  There  is  one  spot,  to  be  sure, 
that  already  begins  to  pass  into  the  ludicrous.  In  a  public 
square  there  have  been  erected  one  or  more  upright  frames ; 
from  a  distance  they  are  still  brilliant,  but  in  coming  up 
to  the  little  park,  in  many  of  the  tumblers  attached  to 
the  frames  the  light  is  already  out,  doubtless  for  want  of 
oil. 


222  FRENCH  AND  BELGIANS. 

To-day  I  see  a  handbill  upon  the  street  stating  that  those 
families  whose  names  are  entered  for  public  assistance  will 
receive  each  two  francs  by  applying  at  the  mayoralty  of  the 
ward. 

This  festival  occurs  on  Sunday,  June  30th.  The  next 
evening  I  leave  the  Lyons  station  for  the  south.  In  order 
to  preserve  the  ctmnection  I  will  postjX)ne  the  description 
of  ray  visit  to  a  farming  family,  within  seventy  miles  of 
that  city,  and  will  finish  the  Parisian  narrative.  It  is  four 
o'clock  on  Sunday  morning,  July  14th,  when  I  arrive  in 
Paris  from  the  south.  This  day  Paris  ffites  the  taking  of 
the  Bastile,  but  it  does  not  appear  to  be  a  great  national 
festival  like  our  Fourth  of  July. 


CHAPTER    XV. 


July  15th. — One  evening  l)efore  I  left  Paris,  at  about 
eight  o'clock,  there  was  good  instrumental  music  in  the 
garden  of  the  Jesuit  college,  before  spoken  of;  the  music 
seemed  to  proceed  from  a  brass  band,  with  a  drum,  and  it 
was  applauded  by  clapping  hands.  We  know  nothing  of 
the  occjision.  I  suggest  that  it  is  a  serenade  to  some  dis- 
tinguished visitor, — Mr.  Dupanloup,  for  instance;  but 
Victor  thinks  it  more  probable  that  it  is  the  festival  of 
their  superior  or  director. 

To-day,  when  I  am  out,  I  observe  men  at  work  ui)on  a 

wall,  which  makes  a  long  stretch  on  the  Rue  d' ,  and 

I  find  that  this  enclosure  belongs  to  the  Jesuits.  At  a 
distance  within  is  a  handsome  new  building,  and  there  are 
a  number  of  boys  and  an  ecclesiastic.      I   suppose   this 


PARIS.  223 

ground  to  be  a  part  of  the  same  gift  made  by  a  woman  to 
the  Jesuits.  I  walk  around  to  try  and  see  how  much  prop- 
erty they  have  here ;  and  in  going  around  a  block,  I  ob- 
serve in  the  back  of  a  court-yard  a  building,  and  on  the 
gate  in  front  I  read  Bureau  de  Cordributions.  Contribu- 
tion office,  is  it?  And  do  the  Jesuits  thus,  in  this  insidi- 
ous manner,  ask  for  contributions,  too?  I  enter  the  court- 
yard upon  a  voyage  of  discovery,  and  inquire  at  a  low 
building  on  the  left,  "  What  are  these  contributions  for  ?" 
"They  are  contributions,"  says  a  young  woman;  "ask 
there  on  the  right."  At  the  building  on  the  right  is  a 
big  woman  :  "  For  what  are  these  contributions  ?"  With 
Parisian  rapidity  she  replies,  "Contributions  for  an  apart- 
ment; for  a  dog.  Do  you  want  to  pay?"  No,  indeed;  and 
it  dawns  upon  my  mind  that  this  is  an  office  where  you 
pay  taxes. 

Soon  after  my  return  I  call  at  Mr.  Carpentier's,  and 
meet  there  a  gentleman  who  tells  me  something  about  the 
patois  of  France.  He  gives  me  a  specimen  of  the  langue 
d'Oc,  or  dialect  of  Provence,  in  the  south,  and  says 
that  those  who  understand  it  do  not  understand  the  patois 
of  Lyons.  Among  the  peasants  of  France  he  estimates 
that  there  are  from  six  to  ten  different  dialects.  Even  in 
the  environs  of  Paris  he  says  that  the  peasants  speak  an 
idiom,  probably  containing  Latin,  Gallic,  and  Frank  roots. 


The  following,  which  I  have  abridged,  was  handed  to 
me  u}X)n  the  street  to-day ;  although  I  flatter  myself  that 
I  do  not  resemble  the  patrons  of  the  entertainment : 

"Notice. — Thursday,  July  18th.  From  nine  in  the 
evening  until  four  in  the  morning.     Great  Night  Festival 


224  FRENCH  AND  BELGIANS. 

in  honor  of  the  foreigners  met  at  Paris  on  the  occasion  of 
the  Universal  Exj)osition.  Ball,  infernal  quadrille,  fairy 
ilhiminations,  fireworks,  flags  of  all  nations,  American 
bars,  sails  on  the   lake,  pigeon-shooting,  wooden  horses, 

Russian  mountains  in  the  park  and  gardens  of ,  prizes 

and  medals  for  hog  races.  Free  entrance  to  every  lady 
with  an  escort.  Tickets  can  be  procured  at  all  the  coffee- 
houses and  restaurants." 

I  afterwanls  speak  to  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Leblanc  about  this, 
and  they  say  that  these  night- balls  are  the  ruin  of  the 
youth.  I  myself  can  imagine  the  condition  of  a  young 
man  employed  as  salesman  in  one  of  these  great  retail 
stores,  where  now  there  is  often  such  a  press,  if  he  spen^ 
nights  at  places  like  this  one  just  brought  to  my  notice.  I 
speak  to  Mrs.  Leblanc  about  the  Jardin  Mabille,  for  which 
I  heard  a  man  in  our  American  department  at  the  Exposi- 
tion inquiring  in  a  loud  tone.  Mrs.  Leblanc  replies  that 
she  does  not  know  in  what  quarter  it  is;  that  respectable 
people  know  such  places  by  name,  but  do  not  know  where 
they  are. 

After  my  return  I  again  meet  Madame  Simon,  the  dress- 
maker. In  sjjeaking  of  herself  or  of  her  family,  she  asks 
whether  it  seems  fair  that  if  they  fall  sick  they  should 
have  no  refuge  but  a  iiospital.  I  ask  an  acquaintance 
what  her  husband's  habits  are, — whether  he  is  an  in- 
dustrious workman,  and  whether  the  two  cannot  lay  by 
money.  He  replies  that  nincteen-twentieths  of  the  people 
in  Paris  cannot  lay  by  money,  or  three- fourths,  if  I  like 
that  better.  One  in  ten  can  put  by  money  is,  I  think,  the 
estimate  of  another,  a  quiet  Protestant. 

Madame  Simon  came  to  bring  something  she  had  made. 
Slie  says  that  the  problem  of  labor  is  one  that  we  shall 


PARIS.  225 

have  to  meet  in  America;  that  if  their  sufferings  are  too 
great,  we  shall  have  to  feel  the  consequences.  As  regards 
the  Communists,  I  understand  her  to  say  that  they  deter- 
mined, as  they  could  not  conquer  the  Versailles  army,  to 
destroy  Paris  and  perish  with  it.  But  she  claims  that  they 
could  not  have  destroyed  the  Hotel  de  Ville,  or  some  build- 
ing where  were  the  records  of  the  Empire,  and  of  the  money 
then  expended,  for  that  would  be  so  manifestly  against 
their  interests.  She  speaks  of  the  clubs  of  that  time,  which 
were  frequented  by  men  and  women,  but  says  that  she 
herself  did  not  care  to  participate  in  denouncing  private 
individuals  because  they  would  not  join  the  Commune. 

I  hear  from  Madame  Leblanc  that  one  of  the  women 
sent  to  New  Caledonia  was  a  teacher,  and  had  instructed 
Mrs.  Leblanc  herself.  This  teacher  was  moimted  upon  a 
barricade  with  a  gun  in  iiand,  like  one  of  the  national 
guards,  and  was  fighting.  She  wore  short  hair,  was  pecu- 
liar in  dress,  and  was  an  extreme  republican.  Further, 
she  was  suspected  of  being  fit  to  disturb  the  peace  of  fam- 
ilies. Perhaps  she  will  be  happier  in  New  Caledonia;  but 
can  a  Parisian  think  that  [wssible? 


Friday,  July  Idth. — One  great  charm  of  Paris  streets  is 
their  variety, — the  soldiers  and  men  in  uniform;  the  school- 
boys, often  with  marked  dress;  the  ecclesiastics  in  their 
robes;  nuns  in  different  costumes;  ladies  of  fashion;  and 
plain  working-women  in  their  caps.  Lately  I  met  an  eccle- 
siastic walking  with  a  lady, — not  elegant,  but  well  enough. 
He  had  a  full,  florid  face,  and  wore  his  black  robe  and  the 
red  ribbon  of  the  Legion  of  Honor.  On  one  of  the  boule- 
vards to-day  I  overtake  a  brown  woman  in  a  plaid  dress,  in 
which  blue  predominates;  in  her  plaid  neckerchief  rose-red 


226  FRENCH  AND  BELGIANS. 

is  conspicuoiija,  and  in  her  plaid  silk  head-handkerchief, 
yellow.  She  wears  ear-rings  and  head-pins  of  filigree, — ap- 
parently gold.  From  previous  experience,  I  know  that  I 
must  not  suppose  all  the  colored  people  here  to  be  from 
my  own  country ;  and  I  venture  to  ask  her  whether  ma- 
dame  is  an  American.  She  answers  that  she  is  from 
Guadeloupe  (a  West  Indian  isle  belonging  to  the  French). 


Lately  I  breakfasted  with  a  French  friend,  in  company 
with  our  friends  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Gounod-Tessin.  These 
seem  to  be  quite  a  model  pair.  I  have  never  seen  madame 
in  public  without  her  husband ;  and  I  have  noticed  how 
helpful  he  is  in  domestic  matters.  We  have  a  nice  visit 
at  the  house  of  our  mutual  friend ;  and  in  conversation  I 
tell  them  of  what  an  Italian  gentleman  has  said  here, — 
that  married  M'omen  in  Italy  have  all  liberty.  To  which 
I  had  replied,  "Is  it  possible  that  an  Italian  says  so?" 
When  I  tell  this,  Mr.  Gounod-Tessin  seems  to  feel  it  a 
duty  to  propagate  his  Fourierite  opinions,  and  he  remarks 
that  the  patriarchs  among  the  Jews  had  children  by  their 
handmaidens;  adding  that  when  society  is  arranged  on  a 
new  basis,  we  shall  be  able  to  see  a  happier  state  of  things 
than  at  present  exists,  or  words  of  like  effect.  "  I  prefer 
your  example,"  I  answered,  "to  your  teaching."  "We  are 
old  |>eople,"  said  madame ;  "  we  are  friends."  In  noting 
this  conversation,  I  ask  whether,  if  there  were  more  love- 
marriages  here,  and  if  divorce  existed  as  among  us,  whether 
this  would  not  be  enough  to  f^atisfy  such  quiet  people  as 
Mr.  and  Mrs.  Gounod-Tessin.  But  he  is  the  ardent  Fou- 
rierite of  whom  I  have  l)ef()re  spoken.  How  little  he  seems 
like  a  st^nsual  man,  the  slave  of  his  apjK'tites  ! 

I  suspect  him  of  having  suffered  in  some  of  his  dealings 


PARIS.  227 

with  my  countrymen,  for  I  hear  of  his  having  said  that  it 
takes  ten  Jews  to  make  one  American ! 

One  evening  before  I  leave  Paris  I  attend  a  lecture, 
where  is  also  the  Philadelphia  lady  married  to  a  German 
of  whom  I  have  before  spoken.  Mrs.  P.  brings  two  young 
ladies  with  her  to  the  lecture.  Madame  Gounod-Tessin  is 
much  pleased  to  see  c?emo?se//es  at  a  lecture ;  for  here,  she 
says,  they  do  not  get  l)eyond  concerts.  "  That  must  be  the 
excellence  of  America,"  she  adds, — "  its  women  !"  whence 
it  would  seem  that  she  shares  her  husband's  objection  to  our 
men.  Another  person  gave  me  the  following  anecdote:  A 
certain  Jew  said,  "They  used  to  say  in  Germany  that  it 
takes  three  Christians  to  beat  a  Jew;  but  I  tell  you  it 
takes  seven  Jews  to  beat  one  Yankee !" 


Sunday,  July  21st. — To-day  I  have  a  very  satisfactory 
visit,  dining  agreeably  with  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Vibert,  the 
Protestants  whom  I  before  visited ;  Mr.  Vibert  being  over- 
seer of  a  nianufactory.  Here  I  meet  two  persons  who 
were  schoolmates  of  Mr.  Vibert  at  the  School  of  Arts  and 
Trades.  Both  of  these  are  republicans ;  both  were  Catholics 
until  their  first  communion,  but  are  now  free-thinkers.  One 
is  more  sociable  than  the  other.  I  will  call  him  Bournon. 
He  computes  that  of  ten  million  voters  in  France  one  rail- 
lion  adhere  to  the  Church.  (He  could  not  estimate  the 
number  of  Protestants.)  Of  the  remaining  Catholics,  he 
says  that  those  in  the  large  cities  are  free-thinkers,  and 
those  in  the  country  indifferent.  Mr.  Bournon  adds  that 
although  the  men  of  France  are  thus  indifferent  to  religion, 
yet  they  have  their  children  baptized  and  to  partake  of  the 
fii*st  communion  ;  and  the  day  of  this  communion  is  a  fes- 
tival in  the  family.     T  ask  whether  there  will  not  come  a 


228  FRENCH  AND  BELGIANS. 

time  or  a  generation  that  will  cease  to  teach  their  children 
things  in  which  they  do  not  believe  themselves.  In  reply 
they  tell  me  of  some  person  who  would  not  have  his  chil- 
dren baptize<l;  and  the  principal  reason  which  they  give  for 
conforming  in  these  matters  is  to  do  as  the  rest  of  the  world 
does.  But  one  of  them  adds  that  there  are  certain  places 
that  can  only  be  obtained  by  those  that  have  been  baptized 
and  partaken  of  the  communion.  "  For  instance,"  says  Mr. 
Bournon,  "  if  you  owned  a  railroad,  and  should  say  that 
the  persons  whom  you  employed  must  have  been  baptized 
and  have  received  the  communion."  I  remark  that  parents 
probably  feel  the  necessity  of  teaching  their  children  some 
law  for  the  government  of  their  actions;  and,  addressing 
Madame  Vil)ert,  who  had  l)efore  inquired  concerning  my 
sentiments,  I  add  that  there  are  two  principles  by  which 
we  can  regulate  our  actions, — I  feel  diffident,  because  I  can 
tell  them  l)etter  than  practise  them, — and  these  two  princi- 
ples are  Love  and  Truth. 

I  have  mentioned  that  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Vibert  are  Protest- 
ants ;  but  it  seems  that  those  who  cease  to  practise  Catholi- 
cism here  seldom  become  Protestants.  I  only  remember 
meeting  one  family  in  France  that  have  done  so. 


One  of  the  i)ersons  at  Mr.  Vibert 's  asks  whether  we  in 
America  are  interested  in  their  republic,  or  in  their  |)oliti- 
cal  efforts.  I  understand  Mr.  Bournon  to  say  that  the 
|)cople  of  Paris  now  have  the  rights  for  which  the  Commu- 
nists contended ;  but  this  does  not  entirely  agree  with  what 
Mrs.  Simon  said.  At  Mr.  Vilx'rt's  the  cause  of  the  out- 
brcjik  of  the  Commune,  or  civil  war,  was  destTibe<l  to  me, 
and  I  prepareil  an  a(x;ount  of  it  for  this  volume;  but,  fearing 
that  it  was  not  entirely  correct,  I  afterwards  wrote  to  Mr. 


PARIS.  229 

Vibert  upon  the  subject,  wlio  has  very  kindly  sent  me  the 
following  account,  under  date  of  March  1,  1879:  "What 
were  the  causes  of  the  civil  war?  After  three  months  of 
siege,  during  which  Paris  had  to  suffer  from  cold  and 
hunger,  when  a  whole  army  of  national  guards,  who  only 
asked  to  fight,  remained  shut  up  within  the  enclosure  of 
the  fortifications,  and  played  a  ridiculous  part,  in  conse- 
quence of  the  orders  of  General  Trochu,  governor  of  Paris, 
who  was  constantly  opposed  to  making  those  sorties  against 
the  Prussians  which  the  defence  required,  and  which  every- 
body demanded  with  great  cries ; — after  these  three  months. 
Governor  Trochu  was  obliged  to  capitulate,  without  having 
known  how  to  use  the  forces  at  his  disposition,*  In  con- 
sequence of  the  capitulation,  the  Prussians  took  possession 
of  the  forts  of  Paris,  and  found,  in  entering  them,  enormous 
quantities  of  provisions  of  all  kinds.  When  the  Parisian 
population  learned  this, — they  who  had  suffered  so  long 
from  hunger,  and  who  had  been  made  to  believe  that  all 
the  provisions  were  exhausted, — there  was  an  immense  cry 
of  fury  against  General  Trochu,  and  if  he  had  been  in 
Paris  at  that  time  he  would  certainly  have  suffered ;  but, 
feeling  himself  guilty,  he  had  taken  care  the  evening  before 
to  retire  to  the  fort  of  Mont  Valerien. 

"  One  condition  of  the  armistice  was  that  a  body  of  Ger- 
man troops  should  enter  Paris  by  the  Arch  of  Triumph, 
and  should  proceed  as  far  as  the  Place  de  la  Concorde.  As 
there  were  cannon  remaining  within  the  fortifications  which 
the  government  was  preparing  to  abandon,  the  national 
guards  went  in  search  of  them,  so  that  they  should  not  fall 
into  the  hands  of  the  enemy,  and  dragged  them  to  the 

*  It  will  be  remembered  tliat  the  national  guards  were  all  the 
male  population  of  Paris  lit  to  bear  arms. 

11 


230  FRENCH  AND  BELGIANS. 

biUtes  Montmaiire,  wliere  they  remained  in  charge  of  the 
national  guard.  Six  weeks  after,  the  government  pre- 
tended that  these  cjinnon,  thus  guarded,  were  a  menace 
against  public  tranquillity,  and  therefore  desired  to  seize 
them.  The  national  guards,  already  enervated  by  the 
j)art  they  had  been  forced  to  j)lay  during  the  war,  and  by 
all  the  privations  they  had  suffered  for  naught,  refused 
the  demand  ;  therefore,  when,  in  the  night  of  March  26, 
1871,  the  minister  of  war  sent  a  body  of  artillery  to  seize 
these  cannon,  the  troops  met  with  an  ill  reception,  and  were 
obliged  to  retire.  In  the  morning  the  news  spread  rapidly, 
and  soon  the  whole  national  guard  was  on  foot,  and 
thoroughly  decided  to  make  the  government  see  what  ser- 
vices they  could  have  rendered  if  they  had  been  made  use 
of  in  the  Prussian  war.  During  the  day,  the  greater  part 
of  the  troops  that  were  in  Paris  fraternized  with  the  na- 
tional guard  ;  seeing  which,  the  government  intimated  to 
all  the  corps  commanders  that  they  should  immediately  re- 
tire with  their  men  to  Versailles.  That  was  the  beginning 
of  the  civil  war." 

Mr.  Vibert  adds:  "Here,  dear  madam,  is  information 
which,  from  my  point  of  view,  is  exact,  and  which  I  desire 
may  be  of  use  to  you." 

Monday,  July  22d. — I  call  again  upon  Dr.  and  Mrs.  P., 
of  whom  I  have  before  spoken  ;  she  being  a  Philadelphian 
and  he  a  German.  In  conversation,  I  tell  him  of  the 
American  young  woman  here  who  said,  "1  like  a  military 
government."  The  doctor  says  that  such  young  ladies 
should  be  kept  at  home;  but  he  adds  that  niany  men  are 
no  iMJtter.  He  says  that  it  is  perfectly  disgusting  to  hear 
some  of  them.  He  adds  that  the  American  licglsier,  pul>- 
lished  here,  has  got  so  far  in  support  of  the  new  republic 


PARIS.  231 

as  to  admit  that  it  may  be  permanent,  but  it  always  speaks 
of  Eugenie  as  her  Majesty  the  ex-Empress,  and  of  her  son 
as  the  Prince  Imperial. 

Dr.  P.  says  that  all  the  judges  in  France  are  appointed, 
and  most  of  them  for  life,  so  that  nearly  all  who  occupy 
these  offices  are  of  the  old  regime;  and  men  of  like  senti- 
ments, he  says,  have  been  put  in  by  Thiers  and  MacMahon. 
He  adds  that  some  idea  of  the  liberty  of  the  press  here  may 
be  inferred  from  the  facts  concerning  Mr.  Buisson,  connected 
with  one  of  the  radical  republican  papers,  who  was  lately 
condemned  to  two  years'  imprisonment  and  to  pay  a  fine 
of  four  thousand  francs.  He  adds  that  when  these  things 
are  done,  no  editor  dares  to  write  a  word  in  defence,  because 
it  is  forbidden  by  law  to  criticise  the  decision  of  a  judge. 
Concerning  this  last-mentioned  law,  however,  I  afterwards 
understand  from  one  of  my  French  acquaintances  that  a 
way  can  be  found  to  evade  it.* 


At  the  Exposition  an  acquaintance  finds  for  me  some  in- 
teresting statistics,  some  of  which  are  in  reply  to  a  question 
partly  before  raised  in  this  volume, — namely,  what  propor- 
tion of  the  children  born  in  Paris  are  illegitimate,  and  what 
proportion  in  the  provinces?  In  reply  we  will  take  the 
period  of  1872,  '73,  and  '74.  But  before  giving  the  num- 
bers I  will  state  that  they  were  drawn  out  on  the  basis 
of  every  1000  persons,  and  were  carried  out  decimally, 
but  I  have  omitted  the  decimals  and  given  only  whole 
numbers.  In  Paris,  or  in  the  department  of  the  Seine, 
out  of  1000  born,  751  legitimate  and  248  illegitimate;  in 
the  population  of  the  French  cities,  895  legitimate,  104 

*See  page  233,  on  the  subject  of  judges. 


232  FRENCH  AND  BELGIANS. 

illegitimate;  in  runil  France,  957  legitimate,  42  illegiti- 
mate; and  in  the  whole  of  France,  including  the  cities, 
926  legitimate,  and  73  illegitimate.  So  we  may  see  how 
in  this  resi)ect  of  illegitimate  births  Paris  far  outruns  the 
rest  of  France.  Observe  how  in  rural  France  not  one  in 
nineteen  is  thus  born,  and  how  in  Paris  there  is  about  one 
in  four.  These  figures,  I  understand,  are  frorn  the  tables 
of  R<3n6  Lafabrdgue,  director  of  the  foundling  hospital  in 
the  department  of  the  Seine,  which  includes  Paris.  My 
French  acquaintance,  who  finds  these  statistics  for  me,  says 
that  in  this  foundling  hospital  there  were  formerly  turning- 
boxes  to  receive  children  abandoned  by  their  parents.  These 
were  so  arranged  that  the  mother  or  person  depositing  the 
child  was  not  seen;  but  the  city  of  Paris  suppressed  these 
long  ago,  thinking  that  they  gave  too  much  facility  to 
mothers  to  abandon  their  children.  My  acquaintance  adds 
that  it  has  since  been  observed  that  infanticides  have  in- 
creased, so  that  there  has  been  talk  of  re-establishing  the 
tours,  or  boxes. 

In  the  same  building  at  the  Exposition — I  think  it  was 
that  of  anthropological  sciences — there  were  some  striking 
charts,  showing  the  proportion  of  persons  of  two  different 
ages  who  could  not  read  and  write  in  the  department  of  the 
Yonne.  In  that  department,  out  of  every  hundred  males 
over  twenty  years  of  age,  seventy-three  (dropping  the  deci- 
mal) could  read  and  write;  and  out  of  every  hundred 
females,  fifty-nine  could  read  and  write!  Now,  if  we  take 
those  under  twenty  years  of  age,  we  shall  see  what  progress 
lias  been  made.  Out  of  every  hundred  males  between  six 
and  twenty,  eighty-two  knew  how  to  read  and  write  in  1872; 
and  of  every  hundre<l  females,  eighty;  the  gain  being  much 
greater  in  proportion  among  the  females. 


PARIS.  233 

Wednesday,  July  2Aih. — I  breakfast  again,  a  parting  visit, 
with  the  French  gentleman  and  his  wife  before  mentioned, 
who  live  patriarchaliy  beyond  one  of  the  odroi  gates  of 
Paris.  To-morrow  is  to  be  the  opening  day  of  the  Inter- 
national Congress  of  Women;  and  madame  laughingly  says 
that  tiiose  who  attend  are  those  who  have  thrown  their  caps 
over  the  mills.  I  do  not  understand  this,  and  monsieur, 
her  husband,  gets  a  volume  of  the  French  Academy's  dic- 
tionary, whence  we  learn  that  it  is  those  who  have  braved 
the  proprieties.  Imagine  a  lot  of  French  peasant-women 
in  the  north  throwing  their  caps  over  the  windmills! 

The  question  of  judges  being  elected  is  again  up,  and 
Mr.  P.,  my  host,  tells  me  that  there  are  certain  judges  to 
decide  points  in  trade,  who  are  elected ;  but  not  by  the 
people  at  large.  In  general,  judges  are  appointed  by  the 
president  on  the  proposition  of  the  minister  of  justice.  All 
judges  of  civil  cases  are  irremovable ;  they  are  pensioned 
off  at  about  the  age  of  seventy. 


July  25thf  1878. — Observing  lately  some  of  the  elegant 
omnibus-horses,  I  am  told  by  the  conductor  that  the  horses 
of  the  omnibus  company  of  Paris  are  only  obliged  to  travel 
two  hours  a  day.  He  adds  that  every  carriage  has  twelve 
horses. 

Yesterday  I  went  on  an  errand  into  an  old  part  of  Paris, 
taking  an  omnibus  from  the  Madeleine  church  to  the  Porte 
St.  Martin,  which  structure  appears  to  commemorate  some 
of  the  deeds  of  Ludovico  Magno,  or  Louis  XIV.  Then 
I  walk  down  the  Rue  St.  Martin  to  the  Rue  Chapon,  and 
here  I  am  in  that  quarter  called  the  marais,  or  swamp. 
On  the  Rue  St.  Martin,  at  a  corner,  is  the  Church  of  St. 
Nicholas  les  Champs,  the  most  weather-beaten  church  that 


234  FRENCH  AND  BELGIANS. 

I  have  seen  in  Paris.  Within  it  men  are  relaying  the 
pavement.  On  the  outside  of  the  church,  on  one  side,  up 
above,  is  a  figure  that  I  do  not  understand, — a,  figure  of  an 
irregular  shape,  somewhat  like  a  quadrant,  with  lines 
branching  through  it  and  numbers  affixed,  and  a  few  Latin 
words,  beginning  with  Sol  and  ending  with  Nicholas  les 
Champs,  so  I  surmise  it  to  be  possibly  a  diagram  of  lands 
belonging  to  the  church.  One  of  the  workmen,  however, 
says  that  it  was  to  show  the  hours  of  the  day,  before  clocks 
were  invented.  It  bears  date  1666,  and  the  carving  on 
the  Porte  St.  Martin  about  Ludovico  Magno  bears  date 
somewhere  alwut  1680.  So  this  may  not  be  very  old  Paris 
after  all.  Living  in  a  handsome  quarter,  and  seeing  Paris 
so  renewed  and  embellished,  I  had  been  reminded  of  the 
boy's  knife,  which  had  fii*st  a  new  blade  and  then  a  new 
handle.  However,  the  narrowness  of  the  Rue  Chapon 
gives  me  some  idea  of  what  Paris  may  have  l)een  in  the 
time  of  him  who  revoked  the  Edict  of  Nantes.*  Inside  the 
door  of  the  old  church  just  mentioned  a  man  is  sitting 
with  his  little  brush  ready  to  let  me  moisten  my  fingers 
with  its  contents,  but  I  pass  in  and  make  no  sign.  In  a 
chapel  at  the  farther  end  of  the  church  is  the  worst  figure 
of  Mary  and  the  infant  Jesus  that  I  have  seen;  not  ugly, 
but  more  like  a  modern  fine  lady,  and  the  infant  like  a 
pretty  boy,  and  both  witii  the  gold  hearts  hanging  around 
their  necks,  such  as  I  suppose  have  lately  come  into  fashion. 
Here  in  this  chapel  are  little  marble  tablets  on  the  wall: 
abouta  dozen  of  them, — all,  I  think,  later  than  1870, — with 
inscriptions  such  as  "Oh,  Marie!  I  have  confided  her  to 
thee;  guard  her!"     Women  are  kneeling  in  this  chapel, 

*  Of  all  the  houses  of  Paris  in  1870,  less  than  one-third  had  been 
built  prior  to  1852. — Appleton*^  "Ct/clopiBdia,"  article  "  Paria." 


PARIS.  235 

and  in  the  body  of  the  churcli  a  man  with  his  face  turned 
towards  it,  and,  at  a  greater  distance,  an  ecclesiastic  with  an 
ecstatic  countenance.  I  walk  around  the  church,  liearing 
the  voices  of  young  people  chanting  somewhere.  I  am  car- 
rying a  little  box,  my  parasol,  and  so  on,  and  as  I  come  out 
of  the  chapel  just  spoken  of  a  man  says,  "  Go  out  of  the 
way."  He  is  carrying  something,  I  think  for  the  repairs, 
but  I  had  not  observed  him.  Again  a  feeling  of  fear  comes 
over  me,  such  as  I  experienced  before  leaving  for  the  prov- 
inces. However,  after  going  out  of  the  church  I  desire 
to  discover  whether  the  chapel  just  spoken  of  is  to  the  Vir- 
gin of  Lourdes,  so  I  re-enter,  and  find  my  man  with  the 
brush — the  aspersoir — asleep  in  his  dark  place  near  the  door. 
I  step  on,  and  ask  an  elderly  man  to  whom  that  chapel  is 
dedicated.  "To  the  Virgin,"  he  answers.  "What  vir- 
gin do  you  call  her?"  "The  Virgin  Mary;  there  is  only 
one."  "But  to  her  whom  you  call  the  Virgin  of  Lourdes?" 
"No."     So  I  am  relieved. 

After  coming  out  of  this  old  church,  how  satirical  seem 
the  words  on  the  outside  of  the  building,  "Liberty, 
Equality,  Fraternity"!  If  that  little  man  who  was  called 
Louis  the  Great  were  still  resting  where  his  remains  were 
put  at  St.  Denis,  might  he  not  be  supposed  to  turn  in  his 
coffin  at  the  thought? 

On  the  Rue  St.  Martin  I  notice  one  of  that  infinite 
number  of  women  who  wear  caps  instead  of  bonnets,  seated 
behind  the  little  box  on  which  she  plies  her  trade  of  clean- 
ing shoes.  She  has  fallen  asleep,  and  her  knitting  and 
folded  newspaper  lie  upon  the  box  before  her.  I  do  not 
think  that  such  working-women  in  the  time  of  Louis, 
fourteenth  of  the  name,  had  newspapers  to  read.  I  re- 
member that  about  the  time  his  descendant,  the  sixteenth 
Louis,  was  beheaded,  women  are  said  to  have  sat  with  their 


236  FRENCH  AND  BELGIANS. 

knitting  where  they  could  see  the  guillotine  perform  its 
bloody  work. 


Upon  another  street,  near  one  of  the  fine  boulevards,  I 
observe  a  family  scene :  a  j)orter  is  seated  uj)on  his  crochet 
{the  little  wooden  affair  that  he  puts  upon  his  back  to  hold 
burdens),  and  a  woman  is  handing  him  the  baby  to  kiss. 
"Encore!"  he  says  as  he  kisses  the  little  one, — "encore!" 
and  then  the  mother  kisses  it  and  takes  it  to  its  little  car- 
riage. As  she  lifts  it  I  see  its  slender  brown  legs.  It  is 
neat,  and  so  is  she.  The  jjorter  sees  me  looking,  and  seems 
pleased  that  they  are  noticed. 


Thursday,  July  25th. — I  go  to  the  opening  meeting  of 
the  International  Congress  of  Women,  which  is  held  in 
the  hall  of  the  Grantorians,  a  Freemasons'  hall.  Here 
I  meet  Julia  Ward  Howe,  Thomas  Went  worth  Higginson, 
and  otliers  from  my  own  country.  As  we  are  waiting  for 
the  exercises  to  begin, — my  friend  Madame  Latour,  with 
one  of  our  acijuaintancos,  and  myself, — we  remark  a  young 
lady  whose  dress  does  not  seem  to  be  perfectly  mwlest,  and 
Madame  Latour  says,  "  I  do  not  love  to  see  women  who 
maintain  serious  opinions  concerning  the  equality  of  women 
and  men,  with  the  a|)i>earance  of  women  of  light  manners; 
that  injures  the  cjiuse  of  women."  She  adds,  "  In  general, 
women  of  advanced  ideas  have  a  horror  of  all  liousehold 
labors;  as  for  myself,  I  do  not  jKjrform  them  with  pleasure: 
I  should  prefer  more  agreeable  employment;  but  as  I  do  not 
wish  to  neglect  duties  that  I  ought  to  j)erform,  I  attend  to 
them  with  all  n>y  heart."  The  sjK'aker,  Madame  Latour,  is 
she  with  whom  I  breakfasted  and  dined,  who  has  the  little 


PARIS.  237 

set  of  rooms  upon  a  public  square  and  keeps  no  servant, 
and  is  "crazy  on  the  subject  of  order." 

The  manner  of  liolding  this  congress  is  very  different 
from  ours  in  similar  conventions.  After  this  o})ening 
meeting  they  will  adjourn  for  several  days,  and  it  may  be 
twelve  or  more  before  the  sessions  close.  Also  there  will 
be  a  banquet.  Paris  seems  to  be  very  fond  of  banquets. 
There  was  one  at  the  centenary  of  Voltaire ;  there  will  be 
one  of  the  societies  for  the  protection  of  animals. 

The  permanent  presidents  chosen  for  the  congress  are 
Julia  Ward  Howe  and  Antide  Martin,  a  member  of  the 
municipal  council.  Of  him  Victor  Leblanc  afterwards 
tells  me  that  he  lived  at  St.  fitienne,  a  city  not  far  from 
Lyons,  at  the  time  of  Napoleon's  coup  d'Uat;  and  that  he 
exerted  himself  to  rouse  his  fellow-citizens  against  Napo- 
leon, who  had  broken  his  oath  to  sustain  the  republic. 
For  this  Martin  was  banished  to  New  Caledonia. 

There  were  present  at  the  congress  two  Italian  ladies 
whom  I  especially  observed.  One  was  Miss  Mazzoni,  a 
young  and  delicate-looking  woman,  who  brought  a  letter 
from  the  society  of  the  democracy  of  Rome.  Upon  the 
platform  at  one  end  were  a  number  of  reporters,  and  I 
observed  much  smiling  there,  as  if  two  or  three  were  in- 
clined to  ridicule  a  thing  so  new  here  as  an  international 
congress  of  women ;  but  when  Miss  Mazzoni  read  her 
address  their  manner  changed :  no  speaker  appeared  to 
make  a  more  profound  impression.  The  other  Italian  lady 
was  older;  she  was  Madame  Aurelia  Cimino  Folliero,  who 
told  me  that  she  is  editor  of  The  Cornelia,  a  serious  jour- 
nal, not  for  the  fashions,  but  for  the  education  of  women. 
Madame  Folliero  seemed  to  think  it  an  important  fact  that 
this  journal  is  patronized  by  the  queen.  Madame  F.  is  the 
mother  of  a  large  family,  having  had  ten  children.     She 

11* 


238  FRENCH  AND  BELGIANS. 

tells  me  that  she  is  a  delegate  from  the  Italian  government 
to  study  the  French  agricultural  schools  for  women.  Of 
these  she  says  that  there  are  six  or  more  in  which  women 
carry  on  all  agricultural  labors. 

Before  the  close  of  this  session  of  the  convention  comes 
up  the  question  of  the  banquet,  and  prmluces  the  most 
animated  debate.  Fifteen  francs  had  before  been  suggested 
as  the  price  of  admission  ;  but  one  of  my  friends,  who  was 
making  a  silk  dress  which  she  exiiected  to  wear  upon  the 
occasion,  told  me  that  she  did  not  think  she  should  go  if 
the  price  was  so  high.  The  majority  of  the  congress  agree 
with  her,  for  the  price  is  settled  much  lower, — I  think  at  six 
francs.  And  while  s|)eaking  on  this  subject,  I  will  add  that 
a  young  lady  dined  with  us  one  evening  at  Leblanc's,  whose 
brother  was  a  member  of  the  French  educational  commis- 
sion to  our  Exposition.  While  she  is  there,  mention  is 
made  of  a  ball  for  teachers  of  the  public  schools;  and 
Victor  afterwards  tells  me  that  there  was  a  supper  at  the 
ball,  of  which  you  could  partake  for  five  francs ;  and  those 
who  did  not  partake  did  not  have  to  pay.  "  But,"  I  ask, 
"who,  then,  pays  for  the  music?"  "That  is  comprised 
with  the  supper,"  is  the  reply. 


One  morning  as  I  was  going  to  Mr.  Carpentier's  I  saw 
a  woman  driving  in  an  open  carriage.  She  was  dressed  in 
])ink  muslin,  and  her  servant  was  behind  her.  I  spoke  to 
Mr.  Carpentier  about  her,  and  he  said  that  ladies  some- 
times drive,  and  it  has  become  more  common  within  a  few 
years ;  but  they  do  not  drive  in  conspicuous  toilets.  He 
adds  that  kept  women  drive  a  goorl  deal ;  and  says  that 
five  or  six  thousand  francs  a  montii  are  sometimes  expended 
on  such  women.     Dr.  P.,  my  German  acquaintance,  said 


PARIS.  239 

that  these  women  are  the  great  vice  of  Paris ;  that  one 
man  will  keep  one,  two,  three,  four. 

I  do  not  like  to  close  my  chapter  and  division  with  such 
a  subject.  We  will  now  pass  to  the  scenes  of  rural  France, 
which,  as  statistics  quoted  show,  is  of  a  different  character 
from  the  great  metropolis. 


IP^I^T    II. 
CENTEAL  FRANCE. 


CHAPTER   XVI. 

Tuesday,  July  2d. — Last  evening  I  left  Paris  for  the 
south,  but  not  the  south  of  Marseilles  or  Nice:  the  farm 
that  I  visit  is  in  the  latitude  of  Lyons.  Great  is  the  press 
at  Paris  as  we  approach  the  Lyons  station,  and  the  deten- 
tion is  considerable ;  but,  as  I  have  no  baggage  but  what  I 
can  manage  to  carry,  I  am  not  detained  to  register  it,  and 
I  get  through.  I  ride  all  night  in  a  third-class  car.  The 
peasant-women  who,  for  a  part  of  the  way  at  least,  are  with 
me  I  suppose  to  be  returning  from  the  Exposition  or  the  fSte. 
How  blackened  one  of  them  looks !  We  are  in  a  division 
for  women  only, — dames  seules.  Once,  when  there  seemed 
to  be  a  little  unpleasant  familiarity,  it  subsided  on  my  taking 
out  my  note-book  and  writing  in  it.  I  have  spoken  of  \wy 
fears  before  starting  upon  this  journey,  and  now  I  feel  un- 
pleasantly impressed  by  hearing  towns  named  for  saints. 
About  five  in  the  morning  we  change  cars  at  St.  Germain 
des  Fosses,  and  here  I  get  bread  and  wine.  Locust-trees  by 
the  roadside  look  familiar.  The  view  is  extensive,  the  coun- 
try greep.  "  Wiuit  are  those  plants?"  I  ask,  and  immedi- 
ately iKjrceive  that  they  are  vines.  The  vineyards  are  very 
pretty  now, — the  plants  being  of  a  tender,  yellowish  green. 
The  morning  is  quite  cool.     The  houses  of  yellowish  stone 

240 


CENTRAL  FRANCE.  241 

and  roofs  of  red  tiles,  the  cut  hay,  the  standing  wheat, 
altogether  look  as  if  I  might  be  happy;  and  that  line  of 
Addison  occurs  to  me, — 

**  How  ha8  kind  Heaven  adorned  the  happy  land." 

How  laborious,  too,  man  has  been  ! 

Another  station  is  St.  Germain  I'Espinasse.  Here  tidy- 
looking  women  get  into  my  division,  wearing  caps  instead 
of  bonnets  ;  and  two  of  them  have  market-baskets.  One 
has  butter  at  twenty-five  sous,  which  would  be  about 
twenty-two  and  a  half  cents  for  our  pound.  She  has  eggs 
at  sixteen  sous  the  dozen,  and  nice  cherries  at  four  sous  the 
pound.  I  buy  some,  which  help  out  my  early  lunch. 
Women  in  the  cars  are  eating  apricots  from  Paris.  How 
apricots  abound  in  this  country !  They  also  have  some 
green  things  that  look  like  walnuts  for  pickling,  but  they 
cut  them  open  and  eat  the  well-grown  almonds  from  within. 
I  leave  the  train  at  R.,  whence  I  am  to  go  by  another 
conveyance  to  my  destination.  I  will  call  the  village  Bois- 
siere. There  is  quite  a  kissing-tiine  at  the  station ;  from 
two  to  five  kisses,  always  on  both  cheeks.  Women  kiss 
women ;  men  kiss  men ;  men  and  women  kiss ;  women 
shed  tears;  men  are  not  always  ashamed  to  have  moisture 
in  their  eyes.  R.,  where  I  leave  the  railway,  is  a  town  of 
about  twenty-four  thousand  people,  having  eighteen  cotton- 
factories.  Formerly  cotton  was  manufactured  here  by 
hand,  but  within  about  six  years  steam  has  been  introduce<l. 
Very  many  cottons  are  still,  however,  made  by  hand.  The 
place  has  an  octroi, — that  peculiar  tax  of  French  towns. 
On  the  street  I  meet  a  fine  pair  of  fragrant  oxen  drawing 
a  wagon,  and  hear  a  hoarse  voice,  which  proceeds  from  a 
donkey  who  seems  to  be  drawing  his  cart  home  from  mar- 
ket.    Towards  noon  I  breakfast  at  the  H6tel  du ,  the 


242  FRENCH  AND  BELGIANS. 

charge  Ixiing  fifty  sous.  Tlie  staircases  here  are  of  stone, 
and  tlie  entries  above  and  below  are  paved  witli  tiles.  The 
cabinets  are  disagreeable  enough,  and  one  or  two  men  seem 
to  be  doing  the  chamber-work.  I  have  a  gootl  breakfast 
at  the  common  table.  There  is  wine  at  discretion,  and 
good,  cold  water.  Those  who  choose  can  take  stone  bot- 
tles, which  probably  contain  mineral  water  from  some 
natural  spring  not  far  off.  Our  first  coui-se  is  bits  of  meat, 
with  potatoes  and  a  few  j^eas,  made  into  a  ragout,  with  one 
of  the  best  gravies  that  I  ever  tasted,  for  I  have  an  appe- 
tite. The  next  course  is  fried  eggs;  the  third,  little  fishes 
fried ;  the  fourth,  little  sausages  in  mashed  potatoes ;  the 
fifth  appears  to  be  mutton-chops  with  cresses  upon  tliem, 
green  and  fresh.  For  dessert  there  is  the  smooth,  soft 
cheese  of  which  I  have  before  spoken  (some  eat  it  with 
sugar) ;  also  some  kind  of  old  cheese ;  green  almonds,  such 
as  I  just  described;  filberts;  very  good  cherries;  maca- 
roons ;  and  biscuits  or  small  sponge-calies.  Awhile  after 
breakfast  I  seek  the  station  of  the  omnibus  or  stage.  This 
is  a  more  humble  public-house.  The  landlord  is  an  ardent 
republican ;  he  becomes  heated  in  talking,  but  wine  prob- 
ably has  hel|>etl.  I  converse  with  a  young  man,  who  tells 
me  that  we  have  had  a  great  defender,  George  Vas-ing- 
ton  (with  the  accent  carried  through  in  the  Frencii  man- 
ner). I  mention  Lafayette,  and  he  adds  Rochambeiiu ; 
but  he  becomes  confused  in  geography,  and,  like  the  rest 
of  the  world  in  France,  South  America  has  a  greater  rela- 
tive importance  in  his  eyes  than  it  has  in  ours.  At  length 
the  stage  starts  for  our  village.  Tiie  distance  is  marketl 
by  stones;  and  I  am  told  that  at  every  hectometre  there 
is  a  little  stone,  and  at  every  kilometre  a  great  one.  (A 
metre  is  about  one  yard  three  inches;  a  hectometre  is  a  hun- 
dred metres;  a  kilometre  a  thousand  metres,  or  about  three 


CENTRAL  FRANCE.  243 

thousand  two  hundred  and  eighty  feet, — near  three-fifths 
of  a  mile.)  We  pass  a  building  with  round  towers  and 
battlements,  and  I  ask  what  it  is.  It  is  a  chateau.  "  Is 
it  old?"  I  ask.  "Yes,  yes!"  replies  a  young  woman; 
"  that  belonged  to  a  seigneur  in  '93."  This  allusion  to 
their  great  Revolution  strikes  me.  The  Revolution  which 
began  in  1789  came  to  a  crisis  in  '93.  I  repeatedly  hear 
this  year  mentioned  in  this  part  of  France,  but  I  do  not  re- 
member its  being  especially  spoken  of  in  Paris  and  the  north. 

Arrived  at  Boissi^res,  I  am  quite  alone, — perhaps  the  only 
Protestant  and  the  only  English-speaking  person  in  the 
commune.  Mr.  Chevalier,  who  has  been  in  Philadelphia, 
is  still  at  the  Exposition,  and  madanie  is  also  absent.  At 
their  house,  however,  which  is  in  the  village,  the  servant 
consents  to  conduct  me  to  that  of  Madame  Lesmontagnes, 
where  I  am  to  board,  and  we  go  across  lots  and  uj)-hill  for 
about  a  mile.  It  is  not,  however,  strictly  correct  to  speak 
of  going  across  lots  where  theje  are  no  fences,  only  some- 
times stone  walls  to  hold  up  the  soil  of  the  vineyards. 

Madame  Lesmontagnes  has  been  expecting  me,  and  all 
goes  well.  The  house  has  very  large  rooms  for  a  farm- 
house; the  ceiling  of  the  room  where  I  sit  is  said  to  be  over 
twelve  feet  in  height,  and  the  floor  is  composed  of  large 
square  tiles,  the  sound  of  wooden  shoes  being  heard  on  the 
paved  floors.  The  house  is  thought  to  be  at  least  two  hun- 
dred and  fifty  years  old,  and  is  said  to  have  belonged  to 
the  Marquis  de  B. 

Wednesday,  July  3cZ. — At  breakfast  this  morning  we  sit 
down  to  a  clean  table  of  heavy  cherry-wood  at  about  seven 
o'clock.  Madame  gives  me  a  bowl  of  hot  milk,  and  pours 
coffee  into  it.  She  has  toasted  for  me  two  slices  of  bread 
made  from  dark  flour,  and  she  also  gives  me  a  boiled  egg ; 


244  FRENCH  AND  BELGIANS. 

the  family  eating  their  soup  of  vegetixbles  and  pork.  Then 
there  is  a  little  wine,  but  I  do  not  see  niadame  drink  any. 
The  young  men  all  wear  their  hats  at  table.  Whether  this 
means  French  republic  I  am  at  a  loss  to  know.  In  the 
kitchen,  where  we  take  this  meal,  there  hangs  a  rack — ^about 
half  a  yard  across — like  a  swinging-shelf.  It  is  for  the 
great  loaves  of  bread,  which  lie  upon  their  sides  without 
touching  each  other.     Most  of  their  bread  is  of  rye. 


Madame  Lesmontagnes,  as  I  call  her,  is  a  widow.  She 
has  had  nine  children,  but  only  four  are  living.  (In 
counting  children,  however,  in  France,  miscarriages  are 
frequently  included.)  Mrs.  L.'s  only  daughter  is  married, 
but  there  are  three  sons  at  home,  whom  we  will  call  Pierre, 
Ciiarles,  and  Henri.  Pierre,  the  eldest,  was  a  soldier  at 
the  time  of  the  Prussian  war,  and  lost  his  health.  His 
countenance  shows  that  he  is  not  strong ;  and  he  is  unable 
to  attend  to  heavy  farm-work.  He  is  a  reader,  and  soon 
produces  for  reference  a  little  classical  dictionary.  Besides 
this  farm,  which  comprises  about  one  hundred  acres,  the 
family  hold  other  pro})erty.  They  are  of  the  class  of 
wealthy  paysans,  or  farmers  who  work  with  their  own 
hands.  Most  of  this  farm  is  rented,  however,  and  only  a 
small  part  retained  for  Charles  and  Henri,  the  two  younger 
sons,  to  cultivate.  Another  menjber  of  the  family  is  a , 
slender  little  girl,  Jeanette,  the  boys'  cousin,  whose  father 
is  dead;  and  the  family  is  completed  by  Toinette,  the 
siiort,  stout,  dark-eyed  servant. 


Of  this  great,  old-fashioned  house  we  occupy  the  ground- 
floor  only :  the  upper  floor  is  the  granary  or  garret.     The 


CENTRAL  FRANCE.  245 

best  room  is  assigned  to  me  for  my  sleeging-room,  for 
nearly  all  the  rooms  have  beds  in.  In  going  from  my 
apartment  into  the  kitchen  I  pass  through  another  large 
room,  with  a  plump  bed  in  one  corner,  covered  with  a  cot- 
ton quilt  of  Turkey  red.  This  room  madame  calls  the 
dining-room.  Upon  and  above  the  mantel  is  ranged  a 
collection  of  choice  objects, — an  image  of  Mary  with  the 
infant  Jesus;  a  little  crucifix;  a  colored  picture  of  our 
Lady  of  the  seven  sorrows;  and  an  engraving  of  Sainte 
Germaine,  with  distaff  and  sheep.  Here,  too,  are  certifi- 
cates of  the  first  communion  of  several  of  the  family.  On 
one  of  them  are  these  mottoes :  "  Heaven  is  a  first  com- 
munion which  lasts  always."  "This  is  the  bread  of  life 
come  down  from  heaven ;  he  who  eats  of  this  bread  will 
live  forever."  "He  who  eats  my  flesh  and  drinks  my 
blood  remains  in  me  and  I  in  hira ;  I  will  raise  him  up  at 
the  last  day." 

In  the  same  collection,  above  the  mantel  in  the  dining- 
room,  are  photographs  of  several  of  the  family ;  and  here, 
too,  is  something  new, — namely,  a  certificate  telling,  with 
considerable  circumlocution,  how  Henri  Lesmontagues, 
born  in  18G2,  was  in  1877  found  worthy  of  receiving  the 
certificate  of  primary  studies,  comprising  moral  and  relig- 
ious instruction,  reading,  writing,  elements  of  the  French 
language,  calculation  and  the  metrical  system,  history  and 
geography  of  France.  I  suppose  this  is  similar  to  that 
which  the  little  girl  showed  me  iu  the  Protestant  school 
at  Paris:  perhaps  it  is  the  same;  but  I  hear  in  the  south 
that  it  is  only  of  late  that  these  certificates  have  been  given 
here. 

The  walls  of  this  house  are  between  two  and  three  feet 
in  thickness,  and  some  of  the  rooms  have  carved  ceilings. 


246  FRENCH  AND  BELGIANS. 

Tlie  furniture  is  plain,  and  is  made  of  cherry  and  walnut. 
I  am  told  that  the  marquis  who  once  lived  here  was  a 
little  marquis,  a  dependent  of  the  great  marquis  of  St. 
Alban,  the  ruins  of  whose  castle  may  be  seen  in  a  distant 
view.  Strong  stone  steps  come  up  to  our  house  from  the 
front  yard,  which  is  surrounded  principally  by  stone  out- 
houses roofed  with  tiles.  How  can  one  descril)e  this  yard 
better  than  by  calling  it  barn-yard,  well-yard,  and  wood- 
yard  in  one?  Standing  upon  the  heavy  gallery,  or  front 
porch,  we  can,  on  the  left,  look  over  these  out-buildings 
which  surround  the  court-yard,  and  have  an  extensive  view 
of  the  plain  and  the  distant  hills.  Within  this  landsca|)e 
lies  our  village  of  Boissidres,  with  the  church.  The  season 
has  been  wet,  and  everything  is  green  except  the  cream- 
colored  houses,  with  their  pretty  red  roofs. 

Standing  on  the  front  porch,  one  of  the  conspicuous 
objects  in  the  court-yard  before  us  is  the  well,  at  no  great 
distance  from  the  front  steps.  It  has  a  wall  and  hood  of 
stone,  and  chain  within  for  a  bucket.  The  well  and  its 
surroundings  remind  me  of  Rosa  von  Tannenburg,  who, 
as  story  tells,  went  down  into  the  well  to  rescue  the  child 
of  the  knight  who  held  her  father  a  prisoner.  On  the  top 
of  the  hootled  well-curb  here  earth  has  collected,  and,  as 
the  season  has  been  wet,  grass  and  wectls  are  growing 
ujwn  it;  and  if  you  look  in,  plants  are  growing  within 
the  well  from  among  the  moist  stones.  The  hooded  curb 
so  thoroughly  protects  the  well  that  it  only  needs  clean- 
ing about  once  in  twenty  years.  Close  by  is  a  short 
stone  trough  where  the  horse  drinks;  and  such  rude 
troughs,  it  seems  to  me,  are  likely  to  l>e  very  ancient.  I 
8j)eak  of  "  the  horse,"  for  there  is  only  one  ui)on  the  whole 
farm.  We  use  working-oxen,  and  sometimes  even  cows 
draw  loads. 


CENTRAL  FRANCE.  247 

But  let  rae  speak  of  the  buildings  that  enclose  this  front 
yard,  or  court-yard.  The  first  on  the  left  is  the  bake- 
house; over  the  door  some  person  has  written  Tremblez, 
tyran!  I  say  to  madame,  who  is  showing  me  around,  that 
I  suppose  this  is  from  the  Marseillaise,  and  she  answers 
rather  dryly,  "Apparently,"  as  if  she  does  not  sympathize: 
In  the  bake-house  is  an  excellent  new  oven  of  stone,  the 
old  one  in  the  house  having  given  out.  Here,  too,  is  a 
great  baking-trough, — the  bread  being  baked  once  a  fort- 
night. It  is  kneaded  by  Charles,  the  second  son,  he  being 
the  strongest  person  in  the  family.  Next  to  the  oven-house 
is  a  double  gate  going  into  the  garden ;  after  this,  the  low 
building  on  the  left  side  of  the  yard  is  divided  into  a  little 
tool-house,  a  goat-stable,  a  small  and  narrow  wood-shed, 
a  chicken-house,  divided  in  two,  and  a  pig-house,  all  of 
stone.  In  the  goat-house  are  two  sheep  and  a  she-goat. 
They  were  out  grazing  this  morning,  tended  by  the  little 
niece.  That  was  goats'-milk  cheese  which  I  had  at  sup- 
per; the  kids  are  killed  at  two  weeks  old.  In  the  little 
wood-shed  are  lying  bundles  of  bark  tied  up  to  sell, — bark 
from  small  branches, — for  such  things  are  scarce  in  France. 
In  the  chicken-house  are  about  half  a  dozen  places  for 
hens  to  lay  and  hatch.  I  do  not  see  the  great  quantities 
of  poultry  that  are  sometimes  raised  with  us.  Here  is  a 
hen  whose  wangs  are  tied  up  with  straw,  that  she  may  not 
fly  up  into  a  box,  for  she  insists  on  hatching.  Two  pigs 
are  shut  up  in  the  pig-house.  I  should  think  that  more  air 
and  light  might  be  desirable  for  them.  When  standing 
upon  the  front  porch,  we  see  that  at  this  point  the  tile-roof 
runs  upwards  to  cover  another  building  behind  these.  This 
building  is  entered  from  the  garden,  and  is  the  chapel  ot 
the  De  Chambres,  as  we  will  call  the  noble  family  who  once 
lived  there. 


248  FRENCH  AND  BELGIANS. 

We  have  now  finished  the  buildings  on  the  left  side  of 
the  court-yard ;  let  us,  then,  take  the  side  that  faces  the 
house.  First  is  a  smith's  shop,  then  a  bit  of  stone  wall, 
with  a  wooden  gate  set  in  it,  then  a  stable,  and  in  a  cor- 
ner, in  a  sort  of  nook,  behind  a  buttress,  is  the  entrance  to 
another  stable,  quite  small.  Within  the  smith's  shop  is 
plenty  of  room.  It  is  furnished  with  a  great  bellows;  and 
outside,  before  the  door,  lies  the  anvil.  The  sons  can  do 
all  their  necessary  smith-work,  but  they  do  not  shoe  the 
horse.  As  for  the  stables,  we  do  not  need  so  much  room, 
since  the  farm  is  rente<l. 

Let  us  now  turn  the  corner  and  take  the  larger  buildings 
on  the  right  side  of  the  court-yard.  The  one  supported  by 
the  buttress  just  mentioned  may  be  called  a  barn,  with  room 
for  animals,  for  wagons,  for  hay,  and  for  the  wine-press 
and  vats.  Now  suppose  the  stone  wall,  which  is  the  front 
of  the  barn,  to  be  elevated  a  little  and  to  l)ecome  the  front 
of  a  sort  of  square  tower  finished  with  a  roof  of  flat  tiles. 
Under  this  tower  is  the  main  gateway  or  entrance.  Between 
the  gateway  and  the  house  the  continuous  wall  forms  the 
front  of  one  more  building,  which  contains  the  caves,  or 
cellars  for  the  wine.  We  have  now  finished  three  sides 
of  the  court-yard,  and  the  front  of  the  dwelling  forms  the 
fourth.  The  end  of  the  barn,  where  the  wine  is  fermented 
and  pressed,  is  the  cuvage,  and  contains  three  caves,  or  vats 
for  treading  grapes,  and  a  great  press  of  the  year  1800.  The 
largest  vat  is  new, — it  cost  about  eighty  dollars,  although 
they  furnished  the  wood  themselves, — and  it  runs  eighty 
hectolitres  of  wine,  say  thirty  hogsheads.  When  the  grapes 
have  stood  in  the  vats  about  twenty-four  hours  and  are 
sufficiently  fermente<l,  if  the  vat  be  large  several  naked 
men  jump  into  it  and  tread  the  grapes.  This  process  is  not 
without  danger ;  they  tell  me  that  there  is  never  a  season 


CENTRAL  FRANCE.  249 

but  some  one  loses  his  life,  being  suffocated.  The  danger 
is  greatest  when  the  vats  are  not  filled.  Pierre  was  once 
drawn  from  a  vat  when  in  danger. 

I  have  mentioned  the  square  building  over  the  gateway. 
This  hist  was  probably  the  great  gateway  of  the  De  Cham- 
bres,  and  the  wall  here  is  very  thick.  The  little  square 
building  above  it  is  a  dove-cote  or  pigeon-house.  We  visit 
the  building  where  the  wine  is  kept.  Tiie  first  cellar  is 
nearly  upon  a  level  with  the  ground  outside.  There  are  no 
steps  within,  but  the  ground  inclines  a  little  downwards, 
and  the  inner  cellar  is  that  in  which  the  wine  is  kept  during 
the  summer.  The  wine-casks  are  of  two  hectolitres,  or  about 
fifty  gallons,  and  they  fill  from  twenty  to  forty  a  year,  ac- 
cording to  the  season.* 


Within  the  court-yard  are  growing  six  or  seven  trees,  but 
only  one  makes  any  show.  Its  branches  are  spared  on  ac- 
count of  the  fruit,  for  it  is  what  we  call  an  English  walnut. 
The  rest  of  the  trees  are  ash,  trimmed  in  the  manner  of 
France,  where  people  are  many  and  wood  is  scarce.  The 
walnut  stands  near  the  centre  of  the  yard;  under  it  is  a 
large  pile  of  brush,  and  beyond  a  flourishing  patch  of  bur- 
docks, nearly  hiding  some  logs.  I  have  spoken  of  the  but- 
tress that  supports  one  end  of  the  barn.  It  is  of  stone; 
upon  it  a  little  grass  is  growing,  and  in  front  of  it  lies  a 
manure-heap,  for  I  have  said  that  this  is  front  yard,  well- 
yard,  and  barn-yard  in  one.      The  gate  on  the  left  side, 

*  Appletons'  "  Cyclopiedia"  states  that  the  litre  is  .22  of  an  imperial 
gallon.  The  hectolitre  is  100  litres,  or  22  gallons,  and  the  double 
hectolitre  would  thus  be  44  gallons.  But  the  hectolitre  is  nearly 
2fiJ  gallons  by  wine  measure,  and  thus  the  double  hectolitre  cask 
would  hold  over  52  gallons  of  wine. 


250  FRENCH  AND  BELGIANS. 

which  goes  into  the  garden,  is  a  double  one,  large  and  com- 
paratively handsome.  On  two  sides  the  garden  has,  or  had, 
a  strong  stone  wall;  on  a  third  there  is  water;  and  the  fourth 
wall  is  formed  by  the  house  and  other  buildings.  They 
say  that  the  garden  was  an  elegant  affair  formerly,  with 
flowers  and  green-  or  hot-houses,  but  now  it  is  mostly  planted 
with  vines.  The  moat  upon  the  lowest  side  of  the  garden 
is  fed  by  a  small  stream  from  above,  on  account  of  which 
stream  the  house  may  first  have  been  built  here.  It  has 
not  been  a  great  while  in  the  possession  of  this  family,  for 
the  young  men's  grandfather  bought  it.  Although  he 
could  scarcely  write,  he  was  an  enterprising  man, — a  dealer 
in  wood,  hay,  and  cattle. 


Madame  Lesmontagnes  has  the  dinner-table  set  in  the 
dining-room, — large  and  somewhat  sombre,  with  the  bed  in 
one  corner,  and  its  re<l  bed-quilt.  Here  and  in  the  kitchen 
stand  old  clocks,  upright,  over  eight  feet  high.  Madame 
places  no  one  at  this  table  but  myself  and  the  eldest  son, 
the  others  eating  without  or  in  the  kitchen.  Pierre  keeps 
on  his  hat  at  dinner,  but  is  very  pleasant.  At  the  table  we 
speak  al)out  wine-drinking,  and  he  says  that  it  is  fortunate 
for  our  country  that  we  do  not  produce  wine.  Money  is 
made  by  it,  but  it  is  a  misfortune  for  a  country,  as  men  get 
drunk,  and  sometimes  that  ends  in  madness.  He  adds  that 
the  Frenchman  is  not  gloriexLx  unless  he  has  l)een  drinking 
wine  (he  is  not  boastful,  vainglorious,  or  what  the  cock  is 
when  he  flaps  his  wings  and  crows).  But  at  the  same  time 
Pierre  invites  me  to  drink,  and  says  that  wine  drunk  while 
eating  does  not  intoxicate.  I  am  sure,  however,  that  it 
affects  the  head. 

About  four  in  the  afternoon,  the  two  sons  at  work  come 


CENTRAL   FRANCE.  251 

to  the  house  and  want  a  lunch.  They  have  bread,  a  little 
wine,  and  a  piece  of  pie.  As  I  want  exercise,  Pierre  ac- 
companies me  in  the  afternoon  to  the  village,  wearing  his 
neat  blue  linen  blouse  and  leather  shoes;  but  all  wear  wooden 
shoes  at  home. 

In  walking  through  the  lane,  we  see  a  quantity  of  reddish- 
brown  snails,  about  the  size  of  my  finger,  and  we  also  find 
two  or  three  with  shells, — the  kind  of  snail  that  the  people 
eat.  Vineyards  abound  here.  They  are  laid  out  in  lands 
formed  to  heave  up  in  the  centre,  so  as  to  shed  water.  A 
plantation  of  vines  in  the  plain,  Pierre  says,  will  last  a  hun- 
dred years,  but  here  only  about  twenty-five.  On  our  walk 
I  notice  the  walnut-trees  and  the  chestnuts  full  of  bloom. 
These  trees  are  planted,  but  are  not  set  out  in  the  fields  until 
considerably  grown,  lest  the  cattle  should  hurt  them.  Grow- 
ing along  the  stone  banks  that  support  the  vineyards  we 
find  wild-flowers,  also  wild-currants,  small  and  nearly  sweet, 
and  wild-gooseberries  and  plums.  There  are  brier  bushes 
in  plenty,  resembling  our  blackberries;  but  some  of  the 
blossoms  are  pink,  and  people  do  not  appear  to  prize  the 
fruit.  When  we  reach  the  village,  Pierre  and  I  go  into 
a  shop — I  believe  that  it  is  "the  office  of  tobacco" — to  buy 
letter-stamps.  He  drops  my  letter  into  an  old  box  upon 
the  street,  and  all  is  done.  This  township  has  over  two 
thousand  people,  the  village  being  of  considerable  size,  but 
I  see  no  post-office.  We  pass  the  church,  and  Pierre  tells 
me  that  it  is  three  hundred  and  fifty  years  old,  but  I  after- 
wards think  that  his  estimate  is  too  great.  Pierre  adds 
that  the  cur6  (the  parish  priest)  speaks  about  the  church, 
and  says  that  they  ought  to  have  a  new  one,  but  the  folks 
do  not  listen:  the  expense  is  too  great. 

"  But  does  not  the  government  pay?"  I  inquire.  "Only 
one-third;  the  commune  has  to  pay  the  rest." 


252  FRENCH  AND   BELGIANS. 

We  call  upon  the  sister  of  my  acquaintance  Mr.  Cheva- 
lier, and  she  accompanies  us  for  a  short  distance.  We  hear 
music  and  dancing  in  a  restaurant,  and  Pierre  says  that 
there  is  a  wedding.     AVill  it  be  good  manners  for  me  to 

go  in?  I  inquire  of  Madame .     Siie  says  yes;  and 

we  all  three  enter.  The  young  people  were  married  yester- 
day, but  are  still  celebrating  their  wedding.  The  bride's 
home  is  some  miles  distant ;  the  bridegroom  is  said  to  be 
rich ;  and  they  are  dancing  here  because  there  is  room. 
Three  men  with  wind  instruments  are  seated  at  a  desk,  and 
about  seven  pairs  of  young  |)eople  are  waltzing.  The 
young  women  wear  dresses  of  mousseline-de-laine,  or  similar 
material ;  the  young  men  are  without  coats,  and  one  wears 
a  hat.  Older  men  sit  at  a  side-table  with  their  wine,  but 
older  women  are  mostly  absent.  Pierre  tells  me  that  wed- 
dings are  sometimes  kept  up  until  the  third  day,  and  says 
that  this  one  may  cost  over  a  thousand  francs.  In  the  open 
air  I  see  a  dancing-floor:  it  was  put  up  for  their  festival, 
the  f6te  of  St.  Peter,  which  was  celebrated  last  Sunday  and 
Monday,  and  M'ill  be  continued  next  Sunday. 

At  supjKjr,  among  other  things,  I  have  vermicelli,  which 
is  good,  and  a  part  of  a  small  goats'-milk  cheese,  with 
cream  upon  it;  very  good.  You  see  hanging  up  at  iiouses 
what  look  like  large  rustic  bird-cages,  but  they  are  really 
cheese-cages.  I  also  have  excellent  cherries,  which  one 
of  the  boys  gathered ;  in  common  years  they  are  two 
sous  the  French  {)ound,  but  are  now  scarcer,  on  account  of 
the  wet  season.  There  is  wine  upon  the  table,  and  Mrs. 
L.  gets  me  to  taste  thtnr  piqiidiey  which  is  not  bad.  It  was 
made  thus:  Take  about  half  a  bushel  of  fruit  (in  this  case 
dried  apples  and  pears),  and  put  it  into  a  cask  holding  about 
forty-four  gallons;  fill  up  with  water,  and  this  will  be 
ready   to  drink   in   eight  days.     It  remains  sweet  about 


CENTRAL  FRANCE.  253 

twelve  clays,  and  then  becomes  slightly  piquante.  If  it 
grows  thick,  add  water,  without  any  more  fruit;  about 
ten  gallons  may  be  added,  and  as  much  a  second  time. 
After  the  grapes  are  pressed,  the  matter  remaining  in  the 
preas  may  be  used  for  piquette,  putting  about  one  and  one- 
lialf  bushels  to  a  cask ;  or  any  other  fruit  can  be  substituted. 


Thursday,  July  4th. — After  breakfast  I  get  a  pitcher  of 
water  in  the  kitchen  and  drink  a  little.  "Madame  drinks 
water?"  says  Mrs.  Lesmontagnes.  "  Yes,"  I  reply,  laugh- 
ing; "don't  you  drink  w^ater?"  "Some  little."  "One 
of  my  friends  has  not  drunk  any  wine  in  twenty  years,"  I 
say.  "Oh,  misfortune!"  she  cries:  "go,  go!"  I  reply  that 
he  is  strict  in  his  ideas  on  this  point. 

My  breakfast  is  much  the  same  as  yesterday's,  and  the 
sons  have  bowls  of  soup,  with  peas  in,  in  the  pod.  The 
oldest  brother  gives  the  others  each  the  half  of  a  small 
tumbler  of  wine,  and  offers  me  some,  which  I  decline.  Last 
evening  they  said  that  wine  is  wholesome  after  milk,  but 
that  milk  after  wine  is  poisonous.     Thus, — 

"  Le  vin  sur  le  lait,  c'est  de  la  sante. 
Le  lait  sur  le  vin,  c'est  du  venin." 

At  breakfast  the  boys  have  rye  bread,  which  I  could  eat 
gladly  were  it  not  sour.  One  son  cuts  the  loaf  with  his 
pocket-knife,  and  has  a  bit  of  boiled  pork  with  it.  But 
the  careful  mother  confines  herself,  I  fear,  to  low  diet. 

After  breakfast,  Toinette  comes  into  my  room  with  one 
of  those  funny,  funnel-like  things  that  I  have  seen  at 
Paris, — funnels  without  spouts.  "  My  arrosoir  is  stopped 
up,"  she  says.  She  lets  out  water  around  the  pavement  of 
the  room  to  lay  the   dust   before  sweeping.     She   looks 

12 


254  FRENCH  AND  BELGIANS. 

Ileal  thy  and  strong,  but  she  does  not  ap];>ear  to  feast.  She 
is  sixteen,  and-  receives  one  hundred  and  ten  francs  a  year, 
having  been  hired  at  Christmas.  A  good  girl,  I  am  told, 
can  get  one  hundred  and  fifty  francs,  or  about  thirty  dol- 
lars, a  year.  Inside  her  wooden  shoes  Toinette  wears  short, 
woollen  socks,  which  she  calls  boUines.  In  cold  weather, 
she  says  that  they  wear  woollen  stockings  and  bottines  too. 
Her  wooclen  shoes  are  cut  low  in  front,  and  have  broad 
leather  straps  over  the  instep  to  keep  them  on  ;  but  some 
are  cut  high  enough  upon  the  instep  to  remain.  These 
shoes,  without  the  bands,  am  l)e  bought  for  eleven  sous ; 
and  the  bands  cost  ten  sous,  and  can  be  used  for  several 
pairs.  Toinette's  ehoes  last  about  three  weeks !  But,  at 
this  rate,  sabots  for  a  year  would  cost  less  than  two  dollars. 
I  understand  that  the  soles  can  be  mended  with  nails. 
Toinette  expects  to  be  able  to  go  to  the  f6te  a  while  on  Sun- 
day evening,  but  she  says  that  it  is  not  so  beautiful  as  last 
year.  "  VV  hy  ?"  "  There  were  not  so  many  young  men." 
"  Why  not  ?"  "  Some  were  gone  to  the  array,  and  some 
said  that  they  would  not  go." 

This  morning  Pierre  invites  me  out  to  see  the  men 
plough.  In  what  relates  to  the  arts  of  civilized  life  Paris 
is  incomparable;  but  the  ploughing  that  I  see  this  morning 
is  not  more  enlightened  than  ours. 

The  men  are  preparing  the  ground  for  rye;  it  is  an 
orchard  or  nut  ground, — a  piece  planted  with  chestnuts  and 
walnuts.  The  men  have  been  out  since  about  five,  and  now, 
as  it  is  approaching  seven,  they  are  ready  for  breakfast,  for 
we  do  not  have  Parisian  hours  here.  They  had  before 
pl()ughe<l  the  ground  once  with  four  oxen  to  a  large  heavy 
plough,  resembling  ours,  which  cost  forty  francs.  With  this 
they  iiad  turned  up  the  sod,  and  they  are  now  ploughing  for 
the  second  time, — two  oxen  to  one  ploughand  two  to  another, 


CENTRAL  FRANCE.  255 

one  plough  following  immediately  after  the  other.  These 
ploughs  are  of  rude  construction,  the  timber  not  being  well 
smoothed,  looking  as  if  they  might  have  made  them  them- 
selves, and  having  apparently  only  one  piece  of  iron, — a  long 
narrow  piece,  which  enters  the  mould  and  disturbs  it.  These 
simple  ploughs  cost  ten  francs  apiece.  The  oxen  do  not  wear 
a  yoke,  but  a  stick  or  little  log  across  their  heads,  behind 
the  horns,  and  fastened  to  them  by  leather  straps.  Where 
the  strap  passes  over  the  forehead  there  is  a  cushion  to 
protect  the  skin.  They  are  very  quickly  unhitched  and 
turned  out  to  grass  when  the  men  go  to  breakfast.  Al- 
though they  are  now  ploughing, — making  use  of  the  spare 
time  between  haying, — ^yet  they  will  not  sow  the  rye  until 
fall,  and  will  plough  twice  more  before  planting. 

I  have  mentioned  that  nut-trees  are  planted  where  the 
men  are  ploughing.  Walnuts  are  said  to  be  more  profitable 
than  chestnuts  or  fruits:  they  bear  better,  or  are  more  re- 
gular than  the  chestnuts.  They  are  what  we  call  English 
walnuts;  and  from  them  oil  is  made  for  salad.  They  are 
worth  from  two  to  three  francs  the  double  decalitre,  about 
fifty  cents  the  half  bushel.  Assorted  chestnuts  are  worth 
about  seventy  cents  the  half  bushel,  and  smaller  ones  about 
forty  cents.  When  we  consider  the  large  size  of  French 
chestnuts,  this  seems  very  cheap. 

It  is  the  farmer  or  a  couple  of  his  men  that  I  have  seen 
ploughing  as  above  described.  The  farmer  is  a  granger, — 
that  is,  he  divides  the  crops;  but  if  he  paid  in  money,  he 
would  be  called  a  renter.  He  is  unmarried,  and  his  mother 
keeps  house.  She  cannot  read  and  write.  She  cannot  be- 
lieve that  I  have  come  from  America, — so  far, — and  wants 
to  know  whether  America  is  a  part  of  France.  The 
farmer's  house  is  behind  ours.  It  is  a  cottage  divided  in 
two,  one  division  being  the  stable.     We  go  in  here  and  see 


256  FRENCH  AND  BELGIANS. 

three  thrifty  calves  tied  in  the  back  part;  wiiile  in  a  corner 
in  the  front  end  is  the  decent-looking  bed  of  one  of  the 
men,  who  sleeps  here  to  take  care  of  the  cattle  during  the 
night. 

Mrs.  Lesmontagnes  is  a  very  neat  housekeeper, — more 
orderly  than  I  should  be, — but  as  yet  I  see  no  looking-glass, 
nor  a  bit  of  carpet  in  the  house,  not  even  the  rag  carpet 
often  used  in  my  native  land.  To-day  I  see  her  eating  a 
slice  of  bread  witii  a  bit  of  cheese,  a  little  old,  as  she  says, 
— un  peu  passe.  I  remark  to  Pierre  that  she  might  be  will- 
ing to  allow  herself  a  little  luxury,  but  he  says  that  she 
will  not.  Plowever,  she  has  one  small  one, — her  pinch  of 
snuff.  She  does  most  of  her  cooking  upon  the  hearth,  the 
chimney  being  much  like  our  ancient  ones,  but  not  enclosed 
below,  so  there  are  no  chimney  corners.  This  morning 
Nerva,  the  lean  hunting-dog,  is  Avarming  himself,  lying 
almost  in  the  ashes,  for  the  weather  is  cool  enough.  In 
the  chimney-})lace  a  strong  chain  hangs  down,  to  which  the 
pot  is  hung,  and  other  pots  stand  around  the  small  fire. 
To  ])repare  my  breakfast  coffee  Mrs.  L.  makes  a  little 
charcoal  fire  in  one  of  the  shallow  grates  of  a  range,  which 
has  five  such.  They  buy  charcoal.  In  the  winter  they 
live  in  her  sleeping- room,  which  has  an  ancient  tile  floor, 
two  beds,  and  a  little  stove. 


CENTRAL  FRANCE.  267 


CHAPTER    XVII. 

Around  my  room  are  hanging  some  simple  engravings 
and  drawings.  One  is  a  stiff,  dandified  individual, — if  I 
may  use  the  phrase, — who  wears  a  sasli,  but  no  orders ;  his 
right  hand  rests  upon  his  hip,  and  his  left  holds  an  open 
scroll, — "Constitution  of  1848."  It  is  Louis  Napoleon 
Bonaparte,  President  of  the  French  Republic,  born  at 
Paris  in  1808.  He  had  quite  a  history  before  and  after 
he  was  forty.  What  are  the  polities  of  this  family  of  Les- 
montagnes, — once  Bonapartist,  now  republican  ?  I  remem- 
ber how  one  of  my  Irish  friends  has  told  of  the  caution 
which  young  men  who  are  friends,  and  desire  to  remain  so, 
must  use  in  his  native  land  when  one  of  them  is  Protestant 
and  the  other  Catholic,  and  how  they  must  never  discuss 
politics  nor  religion  ;  and,  as  I  desire  to  remain  friendly 
with  the  people  here,  I  wish  to  try  and  do  the  same.  I 
am  sincerely  glad  to  have  obtained  this  place,  which  suits 
me  admirably.     These  people  impress  me  as  very  truthful. 

I  go  into  the  chapel  to-day.  It  stands  in  one  corner  of 
the  garden,  and  the  floor  is  level  with  the  ground,  or  nearly 
so.  The  walls  are  painted  with  Scripture  scenes, — old  paint- 
ings retouched,  and  not  elegant.  There  is,  too,  an  orna- 
mented altar  or  shrine;  and  in  the  window,  a  fragmentary 
inscription  tells  that  a  young  branch  of  the  family  of  De 
Chambre  made  and  caused  to  paint  this  chapel  in  1693. 

To-day  I  ssiy  something  to  madame  about  my  being  able 
to  see  myself  in  one  of  her  pots,  and  this  permits  me  to 
bring  up  the  subject  of  a  glass.     She  tells  me  that  she  has 


258  FRENCH  AND  BELGIANS. 

a  large  one  and  will  let  me  see  it.  Behold,  it  is  an  ancient 
one  in  her  room,  about  fifteen  inches  by  two  feet  in  size, 
having  a  narrow  gilt  frame,  and  set  in  the  woodwork  of 
the  chimney-piece  or  partition.  Madame  lends  me  for  my 
room  a  very  small  one,  which  I  have  unless  some  one  else 
wants  it. 

On  our  walk  yesterday  we  picked  up  a  few  of  the  edible 
snails,  and  Mrs.  L.  is  so  good  as  to  fry  them  for  me.  I 
may  safely  say  that  they  do  not  equal  fried  oysters.  They 
are  tough.  In  the  spring-time  you  can  gjither  a  basket- 
ful along  the  lanes,  beneath  the  vineyards,  and  among  the 
vines  and  under  the  cabbages,  for  they  love  cabbage  much. 

This  afternoon  we  have  a  delightful  walk,  climbing  a 
hill  near  the  house,  whence  we  can  see  a  number  of  villages 
and  the  town  of  R.,  where  I  left  the  railroad.  On  our  way 
to  the  hill  we  find  a  little  party  from  the  village  out 
"  tasting  the  country."  One  says  that  they  are  keeping  up 
the  f(6te  of  last  Sunday  and  Monday.  They  have  at  least 
one  lx)ttle  in  their  basket.  Among  them  is  a  young  man, 
who,  as  Pierre  tells  me,  is  from  Paris,  and  is  at  home  for 
the  f6te.  He  is  coachman,  Pierre  adds,  in  a  family  where 
his  father  and  mother  were  before  him  ;  and  I  can  judge 
whether  it  is  a  rich  family  when  the  mangers  are  of  marble 
and  the  stop-cocks  of  silver  ! 

Climbing  the  hill,  we  come  to  a  region  of  small  pines, — 
a  spot  never  cultivate<l.  Close  by  are  quantities  of  ferns, 
intermingled  with  the  purple  foxglove,  which  grows  wild 
and  fine.  When  partly  up  the  hill  we  hear  singing,  and 
Pierre  tells  me  that  it  is  a  shepherdess;  and  there  she  is 
near  the  top,  with  a  pair  of  goats  and  several  cows  and 
calves.  She  has  her  knitting,  and  is  very  clean  and  tidy, 
except  that  her  sack  hsis  a  few  cherry-stains.  She  has  l)een 
up  here  since  three  or  four  in  the  afternoon,  and  is  to  stay 


CENTRAL   FRANCE.  259 

until  nightfall ;  but  she  comes  down  when  we  do.  Pierre 
talks  ixiiois  with  her.  She  belongs  to  a  family  of  their 
good  neighlwrs.  I  cannot  persuade  her  to  sing  again,  but 
she  joins  us  and  helps  Pierre  to  pick  huckleberries  for  me. 
They  are  growing  thickly  here,  but  are  very  low,  and  are 
more  acid  than  ours.  She  also  helps  to  pick  flowers,  and 
when  she  puts  them  into  my  bag  cries  out,  and  wants  to 
throw  away  the  caterpillars — les  chenilles,  as  she  calls  the 
insects — that  I  am  preserving,  and  that  are  eating  a  plant. 
She  gives  me  a  little  flower  that  she  calls  Polygale,  and 
Pierre  calls  the  foxglove,  DigitaJe.  Somehow  we  get  to 
talking  about  the  dancing  on  Sunday,  and  one  or  both  of 
them  say  that  it  would  be  no  use  for  their  cur^,  or  parish 
priest,  to  talk  to  them  about  not  dancing  on  Sunday,  for 
they  would  not  mind  him.  I  speak  to  them  of  a  strict  sect 
that  we  have  at  home,  opposed  to  music  and  dancing,  and 
we  speak  of  the  Sabbath  of  the  Jews.  One  or  both  of 
them  think  that  the  Catholic  is  the  least  severe  religion. 
Speaking  of  Jews,  Pierre  says  that  at  Besan9on  there  is  a 
very  elegant  synagogue;  and  again  I  have  the  feeling  of 
our  being  put  upon  a  level  with  Jews,  or  below  them. 
Coming  down  the  hill,  I  say  to  Pierre  that  it  seems  best 
not  to  discuss  religious  differences.  He  tells  me  that  his 
young  brother  Henri  took  the  prize  at  the  examination,  of 
which  I  have  before  noticed  the  certificate.  He  adds  that 
there  were  eleven  applicants  from  their  township,  and  only 
four  passed.  There  was  no  girl  among  the  applicants. 
However,  from  the  next  township  a  girl  passed, — the 
daughter  of  tiie  teacher.  He  can  take  rae  to  visit  their 
own  school,  which  is  congreganist,  not  laic, — tiiat  is,  it  is 
taught  by  the  clergy.  He  tells  me  that  these  school  ex- 
aminations began  two  or  three  years  after  the  fall  of  the 
Empire,  but  not  immediately,  because  for  a  >vhile  every- 


260  FRENCH  AND  BELGIANS. 

thing  was  in  confnsion  at  that  time.     They  are  not  held  in 
every  town,  hut  picked  sciiolars  go  up  for  examimition. 

Coming  down  we  pass  the  house  of  the  shepherdess,  and 
8ee  where  vines  have  been  planted  with  much  labor.  The 
ground  has  been  deeply  turned,  and  stone  has  come  to  the 
surfjice,  wliich  has  been  broken  rather  coarser,  I  judge,  than 
for  macadamizing.  Farther  down  this  stony  bit  ceases,  and 
the  ground  looks  better;  but  Pierre  tells  me  that  stony  ground 
suits  the  vine.  Cabbages,  l)eans,  and  pumpkins  are  planted 
in  the  same  ground,  the  vines  being  as  yet  very  small.  As 
we  go  home,  Pierre  points  out  to  me  the  cattle  belonging  to 
their  farm,  which  are  pasturing  at  a  distance;  while  near 
the  house  the  little  cousin  is  tending  our  own  cow,  goat,  and 
sheep.  I  ask  him  whether  the  farmer  can  put  by  some- 
thing every  year.  Yes,  he  can;  and  he  can  lend  it  in  the 
neighborhood  at  five  per  cent.,  or  he  can  buy  government 
securities  at  about  four  and  a  half. 

When  we  get  home  supi)er  is  ready,  and  I  find  myself 
very  happy  among  these  people.  Among  other  things  at 
supper  I  have  a  bowl  of  vermicelli,  boiled  in  water,  and 
milk  and  butter  added;  also  some  of  those  fine  cherries, 
gathered  apparently  on  my  account.  When  I  am  requested 
to  say  what  I  would  like,  I  speak  about  our  eating  butter 
on  bread,  but  matlame  says  that  she  has  only  one  cow  now, 
and  churns  about  once  a  fortnight.  They  have  for  their 
supi)er  a  soup  made  of  some  \y&AS  and  bits  of  bread,  and,  I 
Ixilieve,  butter.  When  they  have  not  meat  in  their  soup 
they  put  in  butter  or  lanl, — graisse.  Here  let  me  add  that 
before  I  leave,  Mrs.  L.  gives  me  butter  for  my  bread.  At 
supper  I  drink  j)i<iuette,  which  is  a  slightly  acid  and  not 
a  disagreeiible  drink.  A  difficulty  arises  in  the  mind  of 
Henri,  the  youngest  son,  as  to  how  they  are  going  to  sell 
wine  if  every  one  gives  up  drinking  it. 


CENTRAL  FRANCE.  261 

Friday,  July  5th. — Madame  asks  me  this  morning  whether 
I  am  willing  to  take  a  meagre  or  lenten  dinner,  as  they  are 
Catholics.  I  say,  "Oh,  yes !'*  and  Pierre  afterwards  invites 
me  to  go  and  see  him  take  carp.  He  has  let  the  water  out 
of  the  pool  where  they  keep  the  largest,  but  he  still  has 
some  difficulty  in  getting  them  out  of  the  mud  and  the 
little  water  that  remains.  Our  dinner  is  very  far  from 
being  a  slender  one.  Pierre  and  I  again  take  it  together 
in  the  dining-room,  but  other  meals  we  eat  in  the  kitchen. 
We  dine  first  upon  an  excellent  omelet,  much  larger  than 
some  I  saw  at  Paris,  and  dressed  with  a  quantity  of  butter ; 
then  come  carp, — one  for  me  and  one  for  him, — fresh  from 
the  water,  sweet,  fried  in  oil ;  and  we  have  quite  a  variety 
at  dessert.  Here  we  have  small  plates  with  pictures  on 
them.  One  is  of  a  woman  in  a  fancy  dress,  putting  her 
arms  around  the  neck  of  an  astonished  individual;  while 
another  man,  in  a  harlequin  dress  and  with  a  half  mask, 
stands  by.  We  also  see  the  backs  of  two  sober  individuals, 
a  man  and  a  woman,  who  are  walking  away.  Beneath  is 
printed,  "Sir,  you  inspire  me  with  confidence;  save  me 
from  the  dangers  that  threaten  my  virtue  at  the  masked 
ball ;  take  me  away  quickly."  "  To  your  parents?"  "  No ; 
to  the  restaurant."  I  tell  Pierre,  who  is  at  the  table  with 
me,  that  we  can  let  young  ladies  ride  with  young  gentle- 
men, but  that  we  do  not  have  such  things  as  these  in  decent 
houses.  He  says  that  they  have  some  that  are  worse,  and 
hastens  to  bring  them.  He  adds  that  they  use  them,  unless 
the  cur6  is  there,  and  that  the  people  laugh  at  them.  But 
when  madame  comes  in  she  says  that  she  would  not  have 
bought  them  if  she  had  seen  what  they  were. 

To-day  Pierre  and  I  have  a  great  deal  of  conversation, 
he  being  assigned  to  me  as  a  companion  or  guide.  Their 
farm  is  divided  in  this  manner:    in  vines,  ten  acres;   in 

12* 


262  FRENCH  AND  BELGIANS. 

meadow,  twenty;  in  rye,  twenty,  in  wheat,  five;  in  jwta- 
toes,  five;  in  oats,  two  and  a  half;  in  colza,  sometinies  two 
and  a  half,  but  this  year  none.  Colza  or  cole  ought  to  be 
next  in  value  to  the  vines,  but  it  does  not  always  succeed, 
on  account  of  dry  weather  in  the  fall  and  the  frosts  of 
spring.  There  is,  too,  a  black  insect  that  eats  the  flowers, 
and  only  alx)ut  one  year  in  ten  is  it  a  gootl  crop.  It  does 
much  better  in  the  north.  The  lamps  which  the  family 
carry  about  are  filled  with  colza  oil,  but  there  is  a  handsome 
one  in  which  they  have  petroleum,  which  burns  clearer  and 
is  chea})er. 

Maize,  or  Indian  corn,  is  also  planted  here,  but  only  to 
feed  green  to  cows  and  other  cattle.  It  is  generally  cut  at 
the  height  of  about  two  and  one-quarter  feet,  and  fed  to 
the  animals  in  their  stables.  It  is  rarely  dried.  Grass- 
seed  is  never  sown  ;  but  after  having  cultivated  a  fiehl  and 
gathered  a  harvest,  whether  of  wheat,  rye,  or  oats,  then 
they  do  not  fatigue  the  ground,  even  in  the  plains,  the  next 
year,  but  permit  the  natural  grasses  to  grow,  of  which  there 
are  different  kinds,  and  here  animals  are  pastured  by  a 
shepherd  or  shepherdess,  and  usually  a  shepherd  dog, — 
pastured  from  five  to  ten  in  the  morning,  and  three  to  eight 
in  the  evening. 

The  meadows  here  are  never  tilletl.  They  endeavor  to 
water  them;  and  if  there  l)e  no  stream  and  they  can  discover 
a  spring,  they  make  there  a  deep  pool,  and  conduct  tlie  water 
by  means  of  a  ditch.  Pierre  adds,  "  You  can  see  the 
meadows  upon  the  hillsides  crossed  lengthwise  by  ditches, 
which  are  to  conduct  the  water.  There  are  meadows  in 
France  which  have  not  l)een  cultivated  for  perhaps  one 
tiiousand  years.  I  sup|M)se  that  ours  has  not  l)een  for  three 
hundred."  The  meadows  are  rarely  manured,  because 
almost  all  the  manure  is  used  for  the  vines,  which  pay 


CENTRAL  FRANCE.  263 

better.  The  owner  takes,  yearly,  one-third  of  tlie  manure 
for  the  wheat  and  two-thirds  for  the  vines.  He  does  not 
try  so  much  to  put  money  at  interest  as  to  plant  more 
vines  and  buy  more  land.  There  are  proprietors  who  are 
ruined  in  various  ways,  and  often  these  are  persons  who 
have  inherited  lands  or  money;  they  ruin  themselves  by 
idleness,  drunkenness,  gaming,  and  running  about. 

But  to  return  to  the  meadows.  Twice  a  year  the  grass 
upon  them  is  cut,  the  latter  time  in  September  or  October, 
and  after  that,  animals  are  allowed  to  graze  upon  them 
until  snow  falls.  Sometimes,  but  not  often,  if  the  grass 
has  not  grown  well  in  certain  spots,  it  will  not  be  cut  the 
second  time,  but  left  for  the  cattle.  There  are  dry  places 
where  the  grass  cannot  be  cut  twice.  Generally,  by  the 
beginning  of  June  the  water  ceases  to  run  in  the  ditches. 

This  farm  is  upon  a  hill.  Vines  are  as  profitable  here 
as  in  the  plain,  but  not  grass  and  grain.  The  average  pro- 
duction of  the  vines  is  about  four  hundred  and  twenty-four 
gallons  to  the  acre,  worth,  when  newly  fermented,  about 
four  hundred  and  fifty  francs.  The  annual  expense  per 
acre,  including  food  and  vintage,  is  eighty  francs ;  but  I 
suppose  that  this  makes  no  allowance  for  the  value  of  the 
land.  The  average  production  of  wheat  is  about  thirteen 
and  one-half  bushels  per  acre. 

Pierre  says  that  their  shepherd  dog  is  worth  one  hundred 
francs;  but  his  mother  tells  me  that  he  is  worth  fifty;  that 
her  son  values  him  so  high  because  he  loves  him,  but  that 
he  is  getting  old  now;  once,  indeed,  he  was  worth  that  sum. 
The  farmer's  mother  tells  me  that  a  first-rate  hired  man 
now  earns  about  eighty  dollars  a  year.  The  farmer's  brother, 
her  other  son,  has  to  go  for  a  soldier,  but  the  lot  has  been 
favorable, — he  is  only  obliged  to  stay  away  a  year.  Neither 
the  farmer  nor  his  brother  knows  how  to  write.     Their 


264  FRENCH  AND  BELGIANS. 

mother  tells  me  that  Mre.  Lesniontagnes's  sons  are  learned, 
and  Pierre  is  quite  so  for  one  who  has  only  been  to  the 
village  school.  I  am  told  that  the  reason  that  the  farmer's 
family  is  so  ignorant  is  that  they  are  from  the  mountains. 

Pierre  tells  me  to-day  that  the  cur6s — the  priests — make 
much  outcry  against  working  and  dancing  on  Sunday,  and 
much  against  those  men  who  frequent  restaurants  on  that 
day.  Instead,  the  cures  desire  them  to  pray,  and  in  the 
afternoon  and  evening,  after  the  services,  to  take  some  re- 
creation, by  walking  out,  by  playing  bowls  or  cards,  which 
they  play  themselves;  but  people  will  not  listen  to  them  : 
they  sing,  they  dance,  and  in  the  evening  the  restaurants 
are  full  of  men,  who  drink  coffee,  with  the  little  glass  of 
spirits,  or  lemonade,  l)eer,  wine,  brandy,  cognac,  rum.  The 
brandy,  or  eau  de  vie,  is  sometimes  made  from  carrots, 
potatoes,  and  rye,  mixed  and  distillal.  Cognac  distilled 
from  pressed  grapes  is  much  stronger.  Rum  is  made  in 
Normandy  ;  when  they  boil  the  syrup  of  the  beets,  the  scum 
is  taken  for  this  purpose.  Brown  sugar  is  not  eaten  here, 
Pierre  says  (but  only  refined  sugars),  nor  did  I  see  it  iipon 
the  table  in  Paris;  but  I  afterwards  see  a  little  in  the  north. 

My  walk  this  afternoon  is  with  jNIadaine  L.,  who  takes 
me  to  her  sister's.  We  see  a  load  of  nice  hay  coming  in  to 
a  farm-house,  drawn  by  two  cows.  Walking  with  madame, 
a  subject  of  talk  is  still  the  vines.  It  is  now  the  season  to 
tie  them.  She  tells  me  that  when  they  are  three  years  old 
you  must  begin  to  stake  them.  It  is  customary  to  take  the 
stakes  up  in  the  autumn,  and  to  shar{)en  them  and  rcphice 
them  in  the  spring,  if  they  are  gowl  enough;  remember 
how  scarce  wootl  is.  But  at  the  age  of  seven  years  the  vine 
is  strong  enongh  to  support  itself.  Before  the  branches  run 
out  and  clasp  each  other  it  is  necessary  to  tie  them ;  this  is 
done  with  wisps  of  straw,  by  which  all  the  branches  be- 


CENTRAL   FRANCE.  2G5 

longing  to  one  vine  are  tied  together.  They  are  manured 
during  the  winter ;  there  is  never  enough  manure  for  all 
the  vines,  and  they  generally  prefer  to  manure  the  new 
ones,  which  give  more  fruit.  The  vines  must  be  cultivated 
four  times  a  year.  The  phylloxera  has  not  troubled  them 
here. 

Every  third  or  fourth  year  all  the  trees  in  France  that 
do  not  bejxr  fruit  are  cut,  their  branches  being  trimmed,  and 
sometimes  the  top  taken  off  too.  This  is  done  in  August 
or  September.  The  Lesmontagnes  throw  the  brush  down 
at  the  wood-pile,  and  feed  tiie  goat,  and  sometimes  the  sheej), 
with  the  leaves  during  the  winter.  Even  in  the  spring  or 
summer,  before  the  goat  went  out  to  ])asture,  they  would 
throw  her  down  a  fagot,  and  she  would  nibble  away. 


Saturday,  July  Qth. — Pierre  tells  me  that  the  French 
liked  the  war  with  Germany  in  the  beginning,  because  tiiey 
thought  they  were  going  to  conquer.  They  went  out  sing- 
ing La  Marseillaise  and  Ninety-Three,  even  when  going  to 
slaughter  at  the  mouth  of  the  cannon.  But  that  war  cost 
France  the  lives  of  three  hundred  thousand  men,  of  whom 
more  died  by  disease  than  in  battle. 

Victor  spoke  of  the  song  Ninety-Three,  and  he  gets 
Henri,  his  youngest  brother,  to  write  it  for  me.  Henri 
heads  it  "  Patriotic  Song."  It  speaks  of  course  of  the  year 
1793,  during  their  first  Revolution.  It  tells  us  that  ninety- 
three  shone  upon  the  world  like  a  day-dawn, — like  a  sub- 
lime meteor  in  the  night, — and  transformed  a  nation  of  serfs 
into  a  powerful  people.  But  from  the  frontiers  a  savage 
cry  demands  the  destruction  of  our  pride,  and  that  we  shall 
return  to  slavery, — we,  the  sons  of  liberty.  But,  proud  citi- 
zens all,  to  your  borders!     To  arms  against  the  strangers! 


266  FRENCH  AND  BELGIANS. 

Every  Frenchman  is  a  volunteer  when  his  native  land  is  in 
danger.  The  second  verse  sjiys,  "  Music  sounds,  and  the 
alarm-gun  sends  forth  its  powerful  call ;  every  man  is  a 
soldier  and  finds  a  weapon.  They  set  out  chanting  a  solemn 
hymn.  Close  your  ranks,  impious  nobles!  for  the  people, 
too,  will  produce  gallant  men  :  when  one  must  die  for  his 
native  land  he  has  no  need  of  ancestors.  Then,  proud 
citizens  all,  to  your  borders  !"  etc. 

A  portion  of  the  third  verse  says,  "Rather  than  again 
to  see  tyranny  with  its  shackles  and  its  rags,  rather  a  hun- 
dred times  would  we  lose  our  lives.  Then,  people,  form 
your  battalions;  and,  proud  citizens  all,  to  your  borders!" 
etc. 

^he  fourth  verse  begins :  "  Behold  in  a  few  days  fourteen 
armies;  but  all  is  wanting, — arms,  shoes,  and  food.  They 
are  hungering  for  victory,  and  the  enemy  shall  be  their 
magazine."  The  remainder  of  the  verse  is  doubtless  of 
modern  manufacture :  "  To-morrow  thy  sons,  O  beloved 
France!  shall  bring  Prussia  to  thy  knees;  and  thou  wilt 
say  to  thy  army,  My  children,  I  am  pleased  with  you.  Then, 
proud  citizens  all,  to  your  borders !  To  arms  against  the 
foreigners !"  etc. 

This  Saturday  morning  madame  went  very  early  to 
market  at  the  village,  carrying  eggs  and  two  ducks;  but 
when  she  has  a  larger  load,  Henri  goes  with  her  to  help 
carry  it.  When  madame  gets  home  she  is  quite  warm. 
She  waits  a  while,  and  then  takes  the  everlasting  bowl  of 
soup.  In  it  are  some  8weet-i>eas,  bits  of  carrot,  and  bread. 
As  1  had  a  bowl  at  sup}K3r  last  night,  I  am  able  to  judge 
of  the  quality,  and  I  do  not  ask  for  more.  She  moves  her 
lips  and  crosses  herself,  but  can  answer  a  question  at  once. 
I  never  see  the  boys  cross  themselves  before  a  meal. 


CENTRAL   FRANCE.  267 

Women  do  not  work  the  gardens  here  as  the  "  Pennsyl- 
vania Dutch"  do.  These  rich  farmers  have  neither  toma- 
toes, cucumbers,  nor  melons.  Pierre  says  that  to  have 
them  would  cost  the  labor  of  another  man ;  but  it  seems  to 
me  that  if  they  greatly  desired  them  the  boys  could  culti- 
vate them.  Cucumbers  and  tomatoes  will  grow  without 
glass,  but  not  melons,  I  hear.  Pierre  has  told  me  that  they 
have  a  saying  that  nothing  is  so  stupid  as  a  true  Parisian: 
he  drinks  wine  and  eats  bread,  but  he  knows  nothing  of 
how  they  are  produce<l.  And  while  gathering  bits  of  talk, 
I  will  here  add  that  the  people  who  were  out  from  the  vil- 
lage "  tasting  the  country"  came  here  to  see  the  chapel ; 
and  madame  tells  me  that  they  thought  I  was  a  demoiselle, 
or  unmarried,  because  I  wore  no  ring. 

I  have  laughed  with  the  family  here  about  my  fears  in 
coming,  and  have  told  them  that  I  have  before  written  that 
one  thing  which  the  French  need  is  to  tell  the  truth,  but 
tliat  I  find  them  candid. 


Pierre  tells  me  that  the  French  soldier  receives  his  board 
and  clothing  and  one  sous  a  day,  but  I  afterwards  hear  that 
the  artillery-men  or  the  cavalry  receive  two  sous  !  Here 
the  soldier  has  at  five  in  the  morning  a  cup  of  coffee  with- 
out milk,  but  with  a  little  sugar.  At  nine  he  has  soup, 
meat,  and  bread, — his  daily  allowance  of  meat  being  a  little 
over  twelve  ounces, — and  he  does  not  find  himself  over-fed. 
Of  bread  he  has  something  more  than  one  and  a  half  pounds 
a  day,  besides  what  is  in  his  soup.  At  five  in  the  summer 
afternoon,  and  at  four  in  the  winter,  he  receives  again  soup, 
meat,  and  bread.  This  meal  on  Sundays  is  more  of  a  feast, 
for  he  has  a  ragout  of  potatoes  or  mutton  (perhaps  it  is  of 
both).     Excq^t  his  morning  coffee,  the  soldier  is  allowed 


268  FRENCH  AND  BELGIANS. 

nothing  to  drink  but  water,  with  tlie  addition,  for  three 
months  in  the  summer,  of  syrup  of  Calabria, — ^a  sort  of 
preparation  of  choeoUite, — which  he  adds  to  the  water. 

This  commune  or  township  of  Boissicires  forms  part  o^ 
the  canton  of  St.  Jean,  as  we  will  call  it.  The  cantonal 
town  is  also  called  St.  Jean ;  and  here  is  the  office  of  the 
justice  of  the  peace,  the  post-office,  and  a  little  well-built 
stone  barrack  for  four  soldiers,  called  gens  d'armes,  and 
their  commander,  called  a  brigadier.  It  is  they  who  take 
up  people  who  have  offended  against  the  laws. 

Several  cantons  together  form  an  arroudiasement.  The 
chief  town  iu  our  arrondissement  we  will  call  Komilies.  It 
has  about  twenty  thousand  people,  and  here  resides  a  sub- 
j)refeot,  or,  as  we  may  say,  lieutenant-governor.  Here,  too, 
is  a  grand  tribunal,  where  important  cases  are  tried  employ- 
ing lawyers;  and  in  Romilies  there  is,  too,  a  military  di- 
vision of  about  five  hundred  men,  with  a  new  stone  barrack, 
enclosing  a  large  court-yard.     It  takes  three  of  these  arron- 

dissements  to  form  our  department  of  L .     In  the 

chief  city  of  the  department  (we  will  call  it  St.  Martin) 
resides  the  prefect,  who  is  appointed,  not  electe<l  like  our 
governors.  There  are  over  eighty  departments  in  France, 
and  the  one  in  which  I  now  am  is  similar  in  size  to  the 
State  of  Connecticut.  In  the  chief  city  of  this  depart- 
ment there  are  over  one  hundred  thousand  people,  and 
here  are  two  great  stone  barracks,  containing  four  thousand 
soldiers. 

To  Pierre  I  am  indebted  for  most  of  the  above,  and  he 
adds  that  if  there  were  no  soldiers  in  Paris  we  should  see 
assassinations  every  day.  In  all  the  great  cities,  he  adds, 
there  would  l)e  civil  war  if  there  were  no  soldiers.  (lie  is  a 
young  man;  I  give  his  opinion.)  "  See  how  long,"  he  SJiys, 
"  the  silk-workers  at  Lyons  have  been  short  of  work,  and 


CENTRAL  FRANCE.  269 

you  may  be  very  sure  that  there  would  be  riots  if  there 
were  no  soldiers  there.  How  can  you  prevent  thefts,  mur- 
ders, and  riots  in  your  great  towns  \vithout  soldiers?" 
Here  I  endeavor  to  explain  to  him  how,  in  cases  of  riot, 
our  governors  call  out  volunteers  (I  should  have  said 
militia).  "  We  could  not  wait,"  he  says,  "for  volunteers — 
for  the  army  of  the  reserve — twenty -four  hours;  for  if  there 
were  a  great  riot  at  Paris  or  at  Lyons,  there  would  be  bar- 
ricades in  the  streets,  the  rioters  would  have  seized  the 
arsenals  and  supplied  themselves  with  cannon,  guns,  and 
munitions;  and  how,  madame,  would  you  keep  your  king- 
dom from  being  overthrown  by  such  people?" 

I  endeavor  to  show  him  what  insignificant  things,  com- 
paratively, are  our  arsenals.  I  tell  him  that  we  are  a 
republic,  upon  a  broad  foundation;  we  are  not  afraid  of 
being  overturned. 

"  But  that  will  come  one  day,  madame.  I  assure  you, 
madame,  that  your  republic  will  not  last  three  hundred 
years;  it  will  divide  of  itself,  you  may  be  sure,  when  your 
people  become  more  numerous  and  more  unfortunate.  The 
Roman  republic  was  overthrown:  it  was  civil  \yai's  that  over- 
threw it."  "  But  what  do  you  think  of  the  Swiss  republic, 
sir?"  "I  think  that  it  may  last  a  long  time;  it  is  a  very  small 
country,an(l  its  people  are  all  of  the  same  nation."  "But  they 
speak  three  different  tongues  and  are  divided  in  religion, 
and  they  had  a  civil  war  lately," — I  should  have  said  serious 
difficulties.  "But  their  country  is  too  small  to  divide, 
while  yours  is  very  great,"  says  Pierre.  "What,"  I  ask, 
"do  you  think  of  your  own  republic?"  "I  think  that  if 
we  can  have  a  good  army  and  republican  chiefs  we  shall 
long  be  able  to  preserve  it."  "  But  see,  sir,  it  was  by 
means  of  the  array  that  the  two  Napoleons  overthrew  your 
republics:  the  Roman  armies  chose  a  general  to  be  sena- 


270  FRENCH  AND  BELGIANS. 

tor,  and  sent  word  to  the  senate  to  confirm  it."  "But 
the  history  of  civilization,"  lie  adds,  "  is  a  ball  always  turn- 
ing. Nations  become  civilized  like  the  Persians,  Greeks, 
and  Romans,  and  then  that  passes  away.  All  those  ancient 
civilizations  passed  away,  and  so  will  many  others."  "But, 
sir,  you  have  not  much  hope  for  the  human  race."  "  I  do 
not  hope  that  there  will  ever  be  a  man  who  can  control  the 
sun.  Do  you  think  that  the  human  race  is  always  pro- 
gressing?   Then  they  would  equal  God." 

Afterwards  I  ask  him  whether  it  would  not  be  l)etter  to 
take  all  this  money  that  great  armies  cost — all  these  forti- 
fications, these  barracks,  these  munitions  of  war — and  give 
it  to  the  poor. 

"That  would  l)e  better,  indeed,"  he  admits,  "  if  we  could 
do  without  them." 

I  tell  him  of  that  saying  of  General  Grant  about  all  the 
world's  becoming  one  nation,  spieaking  one  language,  and 
war's  being  no  more.  "And  how  long  will  it  take  to  bring 
about  that  state  of  things?"  I  inquire;  "and  even  then  we 
shall  he  far  enough  from  controlling  the  sun." 

But  |)erhaps  their  frequent  changes  have  made  them  less 
hopeful,  like  people  living  in  a  volcanic  region. 

On  another  occasion  Pierre  says  that  tiiere  would  not  he 
a  republic  here  now  if  it  were  not  for  the  army.  He  or 
some  other  person  I  meet  in  France  tells  me  that  the  repub- 
lican ascendency  is  owing  to  their  opponents  being  divided. 
There  are  now  three  candidates  for  a  throne, — the  descend- 
ant of  the  old  Bourbon  line,  Henry  V.,  count  of  Chamlwrd; 
the  descendant  of  Louis  Philippe,  or  the  Orleans  branch; 
and  the  son  of  Louis  Naj)oleon.* 

*  Since  the  abov^  conversation  was  held,  the  elections  have  proved 
very  favorable  to  the  republicans. 


CENTRAL  FRANCE.  271 

Pierre  has  an  aunt  living  near  us.  He  tells  me  that  her 
husband  is  not  a  republican  because  he  has  a  brother  who 
is  a  cur6,  and  he  says  that  there  will  not  be  order  under  a 
republican  government.  Thus  we  see  that  I  have  not  suc- 
ceeded in  avoiding  the  subject  of  politics  with  Pierre ;  let  us 
see  how  it  will  be  with  religion. 


Wiiile  I  am  sitting  on  the  front  porch  this  afternoon, 
there  comes  in  the  young  shepherdess  whom  we  saw  upon 
the  hill.  She  cries  while  she  tells  us  about  her  mother, 
who  has  fallen  from  a  cherry-tree,  and  they  have  had  to 
send  for  a  doctor,  and  how  she  herself  has  been  up  since 
half-past  three,  and  has  been  to  market.  Madame  after- 
wards praises  their  young  neighbor  much,  speaking  of  her 
goodness  and  her  industry.  "  Did  you  see  how  she  cried," 
she  says,  "about  her  mother's  being  hurt?" 


I  inquire  of  Mrs.  L.  upon  a  different  subject,  and  she 
informs  me  that  unmarried  women  here  who  have  children 
can  recover  nothing  from  the  father  if  they  are  over  eigh- 
teen ;  they  are  then  considered  to  be  old  enough  to  take  care 
of  themselves.  It  may  be  remembered  that  I  met  at  Paris 
persons  who  desire  that  a  law  shall  be  passed  to  prove 
paternity.  If  they  do  not  care  in  France  to  protect 
women,  they  might  be  willing  to  protect  the  community 
from  the  expense  of  fatherless  children.  Mrs.  L.  further 
tells  me  that  there  are  years  that  no  illegitimate  children 
are  born  in  this  commune.  I  speak  to  her  about  the  great 
number  at  Paris,  and  she  says  that  there  is  no  city  in  the 
world  so  debauched  as  Paris,  and  that  they  say  that  the 
girls  who  have  done  leading  a  good  life  go  there.     None 


272  FRENCH  AND  BELGIANS. 

of  this  family  have  been  to  that  great  city :  the  proportion 
of  French  people  who  have  visite<l  their  capital  is  not 
great. 

I  further  understand  from  what  Mrs.  L.  says  that  if 
men  here  do  whip  their  wives,  if  the  women  have  domes- 
tic troubles,  they  do  not  complain  of  their  husbands  to  the 
judge  of  peace  and  have  them  bound  over.  This  justice 
of  the  peace  lives  in  the  cantonal  town  of  St.  Jean.  He 
gives  an  audience  every  Monday.  The  principal  troubles 
are  about  boundary-lines, — there  l)eing  no  fences, — and 
about  water  in  the  ditches  to  water  the  meadows. 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 

Sunday,  July  7th. — This  is  the  second  Sunday  of  the 
festival  of  St.  Peter,  or  our  village  f6te.  There  are  three 
masses  this  morning,  the  last  at  ten  o'clock. 

I  observe  the  church-bells  much  more  than  those  who 
have  always  heard  them.  The  church  is  in  the  village, 
al>out  a  mile  off,  and  at  evening  we  hear  the  Angelus.  In 
the  early  morning,  before  five,  our  church-bell  can  be  heard, 
as  well  as  that  of  the  next  village,  and  our  chimes  sound 
on  Saturday  evening.  These  awake  enthusiasm  in  me,  but 
none  in  the  people  here.  They  have  rung  under  republic, 
king,  cm|)eror,  republic.  But  many  of  the  churcij-bells 
were  broken  and  the  churches  demolished  in  *"93."  Was 
it  beauise  then  patriotism  was  stronger  than  the  sentiment 
of  religion?  or  was  it  because  the  ministers  of  their 
religion  were  joined  with  the  nobility  to  bring  in  foreign 
armies?     For  three  years  the  churches  were  closed. 


CENTRAL  FRANCE.  273 

I  remarked  lately  before  Mrs.  Lesmonttignes  that  our 
government  does  not  support  churches,  but  that  we  let  all 
those  who  believe  in  these  different  religions  pay  for  their 
support.  This  appears  to  produce  an  argument  in  patois 
between  madame  and  her  eldest  son ;  and  I  have  thought 
that  it  sounded  brutal  to  her,  as  it  would  to  me,  to  hear 
an  Englishman  say,  "I  don't  believe  in  the  government's 
supporting  schools ;  let  every  one  who  wants  education  pay 
for  it."  I  am  very  fearful  of  a  religious  discussion  with 
Mrs.  L.,  but  when  I  have  a  good  opjjortunity  I  ask  Pierre 
what  was  the  subject.     He  tells  me  that  his  mother  said, 

"Now  you  see  that  what  said  was  true  when   he 

sent  here  to  raise  money  to  build  a  church  in  America." 
Habitually  the  family  speak  patois, — or  jargouln,  as  they 
csall  it, — but  to  me  they  speak  good  French.  I  suppose  that 
the  patois  is  easier  from  not  having  so  many  difficult  gram- 
matical forms.  And  there  are  generally  enough  words  that 
I  undei*stand  for  me  to  catch  the  subject. 

Last  evening  Toinette  combed  and  braided  Mrs.  L.'s 
hair,  as  if  to  be  ready  for  early  ma&s  this  morning.  Ma- 
dame has  black  hair,  and  wears  a  thick  white  Ciip.  Were 
it  not  for  the  ruffle  ou  her  cap,  her  little  ear-rings,  and 
her  slender  wedding-ring,  she  might  pass  for  one  of  the 
plain  "  Dutch"  women  among  whom  I  live  in  Pennsylva- 
nia; and  in  character  she  is  not  unlike  them,  in  her  industry 
and  economy.  They,  however,  are  very  Protestant, — de- 
scendants often  of  Swiss  Anabaptists.  Mrs.  I^smontagnes 
walked  over  to  early  mass,  and  later  in  the  morning  she 
had  Henri,  the  youngest,  to  go,  and  the  little  niece.  Toi- 
nette went  also;  so  that  madame  was  working  alone  for 
a  while  at  the  Sunday  dinner, — a  much  better  meal  for 
them  than  the  week-day  one. 

At  the  breakfast-table  they  did  not  scruple  to  speak  of  the 


274  FRENCH  AND  BELGIANS. 

father  of  Jeanette,  their  little  cousin, — how  he  was  abnUit, 
or  so  brutalized  that  he  would  drink  three  weeks  without 
eating.  This,  however,  is  brought  up  as  an  argument  that 
wine  is  nourishing.  On  the  same  point,  one  of  them  had 
before  maintained  that  those  eat  less  who  drink  wine,  tell- 
ing me  that  mountaineers  who  have  no  wine  eat  half  as 
much  again  ;  but  I  turn  the  point  the  other  way,  that  those 
who  do  not  drink  wine  have  a  better  appetite.  I  ask  them 
whether  those  mountaineers  are  not  strong  and  hardy,  and 
it  is  granted  that  they  are.  To-day,  Henri,  the  youngest, 
maintains  that  those  who  do  not  drink  wine  have  not  so 
much  vigor;  they  may  have  as  much  strength,  but  they  are 
not  so  active.  "Oh,  madame,  when  one  drinks  wine,  that 
makes  one  lively  and  active !"  he  sjiys.  JHle  is  quite  hand- 
some, and  looks  very  well  to-day  when  I  see  him,  perhaps 
for  the  first  time,  without  his  hat.  On  the  question  of 
strength,  I  tell  him  that  I  should  like  to  have  them  trial 
with  some  of  our  harvest-hands  at  home  that  do  not  use 
intoxicating  drink.  They  tell  me  that  most  men  cannot 
drink  for  three  weeks,  as  little  Jeanette's  father  did,  for 
they  have  not  the  means;  but  they  C5in  drink  for  several 
days,  until  they  have  spent  all  their  money,  and  then  sleep 
and  go  to  work.  Madame  afterwards  tells  me  that  her 
brother-in-law  did  not  waste  his  means  by  drunkenness; 
he  knew  well  how  to  manage  when  he  was  not  drindv,  but 
his  drunkenness  caused  his  death.  His  legs  swelle<l,  and  if 
he  had  wounds  they  did  not  heal.  They  have  told  me 
that  there  is  a  family  here  where  both  the  father  and 
mother  get  drunk,  and  they  have  a  little  one.  "And  what 
does  she  do,"  I  ask,  "  when  both  are  drunk  ?"  "  She  goes 
to  the  neighlx)rs  to  get  something  to  eat."  Madame  has 
before  told  me  that  there  is  not  the  want  here  that  there  is 
at  Paris;  for  if  any  persons  in  the  village  are  in  need,  one 


CENTRAL  FRANCE.  275 

takes  one  thing  and  another  takes  another,  until  they  are 
well  supplied. 

The  weather  has  been  much  cooler  here  than  I  antici- 
pated, but  this  Sunday  morning  the  warm  air,  the  smell  of 
the  vines  in  blossom,  with  the  sound  of  the  church-bell, 
are  pleasant.  The  farmer's  mother  comes  over,  and  wants 
me  to  sit  down,  and  takes  a  seat  herself,  for  a  little  gossip 
with  us.  She  wants  to  know  again  from  Mrs.  L.  whether 
America  is  a  part  of  France.  She  says  that  I  am  thin,  and 
I  reprove  her  for  not  being  complimentary.  She  offers  me 
a  pinch  of  snuiF,  and  seems  to  be  somewhat  troubled  at  my 
not  wearing  a  cap.  She  is  a  mountaineer  from  a  neighbor- 
ing department. 

While  the  sons  are  away  to-day,  I  ask  Mrs.  Lesmon- 
tagnes  for  whom  they  vote.  She  replies  that  they  vote  for 
deputies,  but  cannot  be  sure  about  senators.  I  ask  whether 
I  cannot  inquire  at  the  farmer's.  "No,"  she  answers; 
"they  are  ignorant.  When  it  is  time  to  vote,  my  sons  have 
to  tell  them  who  are  the  republicans."  She  shrugs  her 
shoulders,  and  adds,  "  It  is  not  possible  to  get  information 
there."  There  are  a  brother-in-law  and  two  sons  in  the 
family,  none  of  whom  can  both  read  and  write, — nor  can 
Toinette,  our  hired  girl, — and  yet  Mrs.  L.  speaks  of  them 
as  desirable  persons,  and  says  that  the  farmer  can  put  by 
something  every  year. 

Towards  dinner-time  I  go  out  upon  the  front  porch,  and 
find  seated  there,  back  to  the  court-yard  and  facing  the 
house,  a  true  specimen  of  the  genus  loafer,  with  grizzly 
beard  and  red  face.  He  has  a  large  piece  of  brioche,  or 
plain  cake,  a  gla&s,  and  a  pitcher  of  wine.  I  ask  Mrs.  L. 
why  she  gave  him  wine,  knowing  that  they  are  choice  of 
it.  "He  asked  for  it,"  she  replies.  "  He  did  not  ask  for 
bread."    "  But  why  did  you  not  put  water  into  it?"     "  He 


276  FRENCH  AND  BELGIANS. 

would  not  have  drunk  it."  "  But  why,  when  he  looks 
like  a  drinking  man,  did  you  give  him  wine?"  "To  get 
rid  of  him.  He  will  drink  all  that."  She  was  alone;  but 
soon  I  hear  the  voice  of  little  Jeanette,  who  has  got  back 
from  church.  The  drunkard  is  a  man  they  know.  He 
came  here  once  when  they  were  shifting  the  wine,  and 
drank  fourteen  small  tumblers,  having  before  drunk  a 
quart  at  the  farmer's.  If  he  had  been  drunk  now,  they 
say  that  he  would  not  have  eaten  bread :  he  would  only 
drink  wine  from  place  to  place.  It  surprises  me  to  hear 
how  freely  they  speak  of  him  in  his  hearing. 

Being  Sunday,  we  have  a  feast  at  dinner;  and,  what  is 
more  remarkable,  Mrs.  D.  and  one  of  the  younger  sons  who 
is  at  home  come  into  the  dining-room  to  eat  with  Pierre 
and  me.  First,  Mrs.  L.  has  a  potage  of  vermicelli ;  sec- 
ond, boiled  beef  and  carrots;  third,  stewed  cabbage,  with 
two  young  pigeons  taken  off  of  the  nest;  fourth,  a  chicken, 
— the  abominable  woman  taking  the  head  and  neck  for 
herself.  She  had  before  spoken  of  liking  the  gizzard,  but 
she  does  not  get  it.  Then  we  have  some  sweet  cakes  and 
cherries  for  me, — I  do  not  think  they  care  a  great  deal 
about  this  fruit, — and  then  tiiere  is  black  coffee  and  rum. 

We  are  going  to  the  village  ffite.  The  dancing  does  not 
begin  until  five  in  the  aftern(M>n,  and  ceases  at  midnight. 
Perhaps  we  had  a  greater  dinner  because  this  is  the  festival 
day.  We  are  going  to  leave  only  little  Jeanette  in  the 
house.  But  what  about  that  man  who  was  here?  "Oh, 
there  is  no  danger  of  him,"  says  Mrs.  L.  "He  would 
never  do  any  harm.  I  have  seen  him  drunk  fifty  times. 
I  have  seen  him  lying  in  the  middle  of  the  road.  But  he 
would  never  hurt  anybody,  you  see."  His  profession  is 
repairing  clocks  and  watcjjes. 

Having  a  private  opportunity,  I  a«k  Pierre  what  he  and 


CENTRAL  FRANCE.  277 

his  mother  were  saying  lately  about  the  Virgin  of  Lourdes, 
He  explains  thus:  last  Sunday  was  their  village  festival, — 
being  the  feast  of  St.  Peter,  their  ])atroii.  It  was  also  one 
of  the  movable  feasts  of  the  Church, — the  feast  of  God,  or 
the  feast  of  the  holy  sacrament.  It  was  really  the  second 
Sunday  of  the  feast  of  the  sacrament,  and  the  first  Sunday 
of  the  village  festival,  to-day  being  the  second.  It  a|)[)ears 
that  the  cur6,or  priest,  did  not  want  to  go  through  the  village 
last  Sunday  with  his  procession  and  pass  by  the  pre[)arations 
for  the  other  festival,  so  he  went  in  another  direction,  down 
by  the  pretty  brook;  and  one  of  the  reposoirs,  or  places 
where  the  sacrament  rested,  was  a  representative  of  Our 
Lady  of  Lourdes,  which  some  man  in  the  village  had  got  up. 

Mrs.  Lesmontiignes  accompanies  me  part-way  this  after- 
noon, but  does  not  go  into  the  village  to  the  fdte.  She 
says  nothing  about  it;  but  perhaps  she  is  too  serious.  She 
takes  me  to  her  sister's,  and  her  sister  takes  me  to  the  vil- 
lage. Mrs.  L.  and  I  meet  two  or  three  nuns,  who  are  out 
taking  a  quiet  walk.  She  says  that  they  would  not  go 
through  the  village  on  a  fete-day :  they  would  rather  walk 
to  one  side. 

At  her  sister's  we  find  guests.  The  son,  who  is  a  soldier 
at  Romilies,  has  come  over  to  the  festival  with  three  of  his 
fellow-soldiers.  The  dinner-table  is  not  yet  cleared,  and 
the  sister,  Madame  A.,  insists  on  my  taking  something. 
Will  I  not  take  coffee,  or  spirits  of  peppermint, — alco/wl  d, 
mcnthef  At  last,  to  get  clear,  I  take  some  wine  and  water, 
and  then  our  two  hosts  and  Mrs.  Lesmontagnes  and  I  all 
touch  glasses.  As  Mr.  A.  (the  brother-in-law),  and  Mrs. 
A.,  and  I  are  going  to  the  village,  we  see  people  at  work 
in  the  field  at  the  hay.  I  notice  it;  and  Mr.  A. — he 
whose  brother  is  a  cure — speaks  against  such  things  being 
done  on  Sunday.     His  manner  is  not  method istical ;  it  is 

13 


278  FRENCH  AND  BELGIANS. 

more  like  reproof,  mingled  with  a  sense  of  greater  impor- 
tance. It  could  not  have  been  from  ideas  concerning  the 
Lord's  day,  like  those  of  most  Protestants,  or  he  would  not 
have  gone  to  the  village  ffite.  When  we  arrive  at  the  vil- 
lage, the  most  remarkable  thing  about  the  f6te  is  its  entire 
want  of  religious  character ;  another  remarkable  thing  is 
that  the  gens  d'armes  shut  the  restaurants  at  midnight. 
These  doubtless  are  those  soldiers  from  our  aiutonal  town 
of  whom  I  have  lately  spoken.  This  ffite  makes  me  think 
worse  of  tiie  })eople,  partly  because  it  is  so  ])uerile.  Mrs. 
A.  takes  me  to  see  the  sights ;  Mr.  A.  doubtless  finds 
friends  at  one  of  the  restaurants,  or  in  some  of  the  private 
houses,  as  private  persons  in  the  village  generally  keep 
open  house  for  their  friends  during  the  festival.  One  of 
the  firet  things  that  we  visit  is  the  lotteries.  Mrs.  A.  calls 
my  attention  to  the  "beautiful  things"  ex jwsed  at  one  of 
these  booths,  which  things  are  mostly  of  earthenware  and 
glass;  there  are  spoons  too,  and  in  one  a  French  clotik. 
Tiie  second  one  I  think  more  magnificent.  Here  is  an 
upright  wheel  of  fortune,  and  the  woman  in  charge  is  giv- 
ing out  cards;  i)rice,  two  sous,  I  believe.  When  ready, 
she  gives  her  wheel  a  turn  or  two,  and  proclaims  the  win- 
ning numlKT,  and  then  a  rustic  comes  uj)  closer  and  receives 
a  neat  j)air  of  candlesticks;  they  look  like  plated  ware,  but 
are  clumsy ;  are  they  not  glass  prepared  in  some  way?  At 
the  third  lottery  booth,  the  things  to  be  raffled  for  are  on 
revolving  tables.  At  the  most  iK'autiful  one  you  have  to 
pay  ten  sous  for  a  chance,  and  there  are  more  chances  of 
gaining,  and  if  you  happen  to  get  that  little  flag  on  the 
edge,  you  may  make  your  own  choicre.  When  we  arrive 
here,  the  woman  in  charge  whispers  to  Mrs.  A.;  I  sus- 
pect that  she  wants  her  to  get  me  to  take  something. 
Mrs.  A.  calls  my  attention  to  the  elegance  of  a  basin  and 


CENTRAL  FRANCE.  •  279 

pitcher  on  the  summit  of  one  of  the  piles;  they  are  larger 
than  those  in  my  room  at  Mrs.  Lesniontagnes',  and  I  tell 
her  that  it  \vould  not  be  convenient  for  me  to  take  them  to 
America,  which  she  is  quite  ready  to  grant. 

One  of  the  first  things  that  I  notice  at  the  fSte  is  the 
riding-honse  of  the  wooden  horse, — manage  du  chevalde  hois. 
In  the  centre  of  a  canopy  is  an  nprigbt  post,  from  which 
branch  out  arms,  each  supporting  one  or  two  little  wooden 
horses.  On  these  children  are  seated.  In  the  centre  a 
horse  plods  around,  and  causes  the  whole  to  revolve.  Mrs. 
A.  says  that  the  horse  is  blinded,  so  that  his  head^shall  not 
be  turned.  In  the  middle,  a  man  is  making  music  in 
some  manner,  and  I  sympathize  with  a  little  girl  who  is 
sitting  up  to  a  large  drum  and  beating  it  with  her  lean 
arms.  I  wonder  how  many  hours  she  has  got  to  beat. 
Before  some  of  the  restaurants  groves  have  been  improvised 
by  sticking  up  pine  branches ;  before  another  men  are 
drinking  in  the  o|)en  air, — wine!  wine!  red  wine!  They 
do  not  appear  to  make  white  wine  here.  Then  there  are 
two  dancing-floors  in  the  village,  like  ours  at  picnics. 
I  go  to  one  where  they  are  waltzing,  and  I  believe  that 
they  have  the  identical  brass  band  of  three  pieces  that  I 
saw  at  the  wedding  in  the  restaurant.  There  is  one  little 
room,  opposite  to  the  tobacco- offi^ce,  where  a  piper  or  player 
on  the  flageolet  seems  to  be  playing  for  what  he  is  paid  on 
the  spot;  he  is  a  jolly-looking  individual  of  about  sixty. 
There  he  pipes  away,  while  some  of  the  elderly  peojile 
dance  La  Bourrie,  an  old  French  dance,  very  simple.  There 
is  one  very  tidy  woman,  in  a  white  cap,  with  a  good  dark 
skin,  and  nose  somewhat  aquiline,  who  dan(;es  abundantly. 
When  she  has  done,  her  partners  generally  kiss  her  on  both 
cheeks,  for  this  seems  to  be  the  rule  of  the  dance.  There 
is  here  an  animation  more  interesting  to  me  than  the  ever- 


280  FRENCH  AND  BELGIANS. 

lasting  waltzes  and  }K)lkas,  if  such  they  are,  in  the  more 
fashionable  dancing-floors.  I  see  the  woman  mentioned 
dance  three  times  or  more.  I  should  have  been  pleased 
with  her,  although  so  much  absorbed  in  her  dancing,  if  I 
had  not  afterwards  lieard  tliat  she  could  drink  a  good  cup. 
She  is  about  fifty. 

Tliese  stone-paved  streets  are  nearly  destitute  of  side- 
walks. We  meet  a  quantity  of  people,  mostly  simple  folks 
like  ourselves.  But  here  are  three  or  four  gentlemen 
abreast, — persons  of  importance;  one  is  the  notary.  I  do 
not  thinly  that  the  ladies  come.  It  looks  strange,  in  the 
midst  of  the  festival,  to  see  a  man  driving  tlirough  the 
street  witli  a  load  of  wood ;  it  contrasts  much  with  the 
holiday-time. 

Pierre  afterwards  tells  me  events  of  the  previous  Mon- 
day, the  second  day  of  the  festival. 

The  young  men  of  this  comnmne  raised  a  subscription 
to  pay  the  expenses  of  the  banquet  on  Monday,  the  music, 
and  the  fireworks.  At  nine  on  Monday  morning  they  go 
on  foot  to  all  the  principal  houses  of  the  commune  or 
township,  carrying  brioches,  or  great  cakes  like  crowns, 
made  with  flour,  butter,  and  eggs,  but  without  sugar.  They 
are  accompanied  by  all  the  musicians,  and  at  every  house 
they  give  a  little  serenade  and  a  brioche.  The  least  that 
they  receive  at  any  house  is  five  francs;  Monsieur  du  Soleil, 
— Count  du  Soleil, — who  has  a  grand  liouse  upon  the  hill  in 
this  township,  gives  every  year  fifty  francs,  and  sometimes 
they  take  him  a  Savoy  cake,  which  is  richer.  Generally 
eight  hundred  francs  are  raised,  but  this  year  only  four 
hundre<l.  By  one  o'chwk  they  are  back  at  the  village  for 
the  banquet,  the  tables  being  set  in  a  restaurant  or  on  a 
dancing-floor.  From  twenty  to  one  Imndred  and  twenty 
young  men  partake;  the  number  depends  on  their  having 


CENTRAL  FRANCE.  281 

been  united  :  if  they  have  had  no  disagreement  concern- 
ing tlie  f(5te  or  other  matters  there  may  be  one  hundred  and 
twenty  at  table.  The  parents  of  the  young  hidies  do  not 
allow  them  to  be  there ;  that  is  not  good  manners. 

The  young  men,  having  selected  a  suitable  spot,  went 
out  to  fire  at  a  mark,  the  prizes  being  foulard  necker- 
chiefs. Another  of  the  games  of  Monday  was  firing  with 
the  cross-lmw  at  a  row  of  pipes,  at  one  sou  a  time.  He 
who  broke  one  of  the  pipes  gained  a  pipe  or  a  cigar. 
Pierre  says  that  he  gained  ev'ery  time,  and  then  the  mer- 
chant begged  him  not  to  fire  any  more,  as  there  are  gen- 
erally three  who  miss  to  one  who  hits.  There  is  one  game 
which  I  here  request  all  French  republicans  to  discontinue. 
Let  not  republican  Frenchmen  at  the  close  of  the  nineteenth 
century  hang  up  a  live  goose  for  young  men  to  ride  under 
and  see  which  will  first  get  the  head.  But  Pierre  says  that 
sometimes  it  is  a  dead  bird.* 


This  Sunday  evening  Toinette,  the  domestic,  goes  off  to 
the  f^ie  in  spite  of  Mrs.  L.'s  remonstrance.  She  had  told 
me  that  she  thought  she  would  not  dance,  as  her  father  is 
dead  ;  and  I  see  that  she  wears  black.  But  she  says  some- 
thing to  Mrs.  Lesmontiignes  about  wanting  to  try  the  lot- 
tery; and  it  is  strongly  suspected  also  that  she  danced.  She 
gets  back  about  one  in  the  morning  with  a  party  composed 
of  Charles  Lesmontagnes,  the  farmer  or  his  brother,  and 
their  servant  and  her  brother.  Henri  Lesmontagnes,  the 
youngest,  came  home  earlier.     The  wooden  horses  were 


*  While  revising  this  manuscript  for  publication,  I  see  an  account 
of  a  chicken-fight  in  Virginia  at  which  persons  from  Pennsylvania 
assisted. 


282  FRENCH  AND  BELGIANS. 

going  tlie  whole  evening,  I  hear,  but  the  poor  girl  did  not 
drum  all  the  time :  she  was  transferred  to  the  cymbals. 


Monday  morning,  July  Sth. — We  had  a  fine  rain  last 
night,  and  the  vines  will  grow  well  in  this  gravelly  soil  in 
the  garden.  Mrs.  L.  tells  me  that  the  farmer  had  three 
loads  of  hay  out  in  the  meadow,  and  when  it  rained  he 
hurried,  and  they  hitched  up  oxen  and  cows  and  got  one 
load  in,  but  the  rain  came  on,  so  that  they  could  not  get  in 
the  rest,  and  they  took  out  straw  to  cover  it,  and  were  up 
all  night.  No  wonder  that  Mrs.  L.  approves  them.  Jeanette, 
the  little  niece,  has  gone  this  morning  to  school.  She  stayed 
at  home  a  while  on  account  of  the  hay-making,  but  now 
she  must  go  again.  Toinette  was  indulged  this  morning, 
being  allowed  to  lie  until  five,  instead  of  rising  at  four; 
now  she  has  gone  out  to  pasture  the  cow.  Mrs.  L.  permits 
me  to  help  with  the  breakfast  dishes,  and  afterwards  she 
cleans  her  sons'  Sunday  clothes.  Then  she  brings  the  lilies 
from  thechaj)el — witheretl  ones — and  puts  them  into  a  nice 
little  stone  bottle;  she  will  put  olive  or  walnut  oil  ujwn 
them  to  make  a  prejjaration  for  bruises,  to  last  the  whole 
year.  At  dinner  Pierre  takes  a  glass  of  piquette,  saying 
that  they  had  had  too  much  wine  the  day  before  (the  ffite 
day).     I  look  at  Charles,  and  he  has  piquette  too. 


Pierre  tells  me  for  what  officers  they  vote.  They  are 
the  mayor  and  municipal  counsellors  (like  the  selectmen 
of  a  Massiichusetts  township).  The  only  others  for  whom 
they  can  vote  in  all  their  country  are  one  meml^er  of  the 
council  from  every  canton  to  be  counsellor  of  the  arron- 
dissement,  and  one  council  man-general  from  each  canton  to 


CENTRAL  FRANCE.  283 

go  to  St.  Martin,  the  chief  city  of  the  department.  (France 
is  divided  into  over  eighty  of  these  departments,  as  I  have 
said.)  They  vote  also  for  deputies  to  go  to  Paris,  this  de- 
partment sending  seven.  They  do  not  vote  directly  for 
either  senator  or  president. 


This  afternoon  Pierre  and  I  have  a  lovely  walk  along 
the  pretty  little  river  of  Boissi^res,  which  here  tumbles 
down  its  rocky  bed  and  joins,  not  far  from  here,  one  of  the 
great  rivers  of  France.  Beside  the  stream  they  are  making 
one  of  their  excellent  roads  to  a  mineral  spring.  Upon 
our  way  we  meet  the  agent  voye,  or  he  who  inspects  the 
work  upon  roads.  He  is  on  his  return  this  afternoon,  be- 
cause, as  he  says,  the  workmen  are  making  the  wedding, 
and  he  can  give  no  directions,  because  there  are  no  men  at 
work.  Making  the  wedding  means  drinking  wine  all  day ; 
and,  says  Pierre,  this  is  what  the  ouvrierg — the  workingmen 
of  France — usually  do  every  Monday.  The  men  upon  the 
public  roads,  and  nearly  all  hand-workmen,  work  on  Sun- 
day until  noon.  They  are  at  lil)erty  to  stop  on  Saturday, 
when  they  are  paid,  but  very  few  do.  He  adds  that  the 
dancing-floor  in  the  village  was  put  up  on  the  first  Sunday 
of  the  f6te.  It  is  close  to  the  cliurch,  and  the  cure  could 
hear  the  noise  of  the  hammers.  I  tell  Pierre  that  the 
peoi)le  in  my  country  have  an  idea  that  the  French  Catho- 
lics are  governed  by  their  priests,  but  that  it  does  not  seem 
to  be  so.  "But,"  I  ask,  "are  not  the  women  more  so?" 
"Somewhat,"  he  answers;  "  it  was  different  before  "93.'" 
"Do  you  think  this  an  improvement?"  "Yes,  yes!" 
(Behold  how  I  avoid  the  subject  of  religion  !)  Pierre  con- 
tinues to  speak  of  the  workingmen,  saying  that  they  begin 
to  drink  on  the  afternoon  of  Sunday,  and  continue  until 


284  FRENCH  AND  BELGIANS. 

Monday  evening,  and  the  abrutis,  or  degraded,  until  they 
have  no  more  money.  Close  by  us  is  a  restaurant,  whence 
we  can  hear  the  noise  of  the  men,  and  one  runs  out  with 
his  trousers  torn,  as  is  not  often  seen  in  tidy  France.  I 
complain  to  Pierre  of  how  they  are  wasting  their  money. 
"And  suppose  they  did  not  sjiend  it?"  he  replies;  "we 
must  always  have  workmen."  I  ask  him  who  appointed 
this  road-inspector.  "  The  inspector-general  of  the  depart- 
ment." "And  who  appoints  him?"  "The  minister  of 
public  works."  I  tell  him  how  we  clet^t  our  supervisors 
of  roads,  but  I  do  not  convince  iiini  that  it  would  be  better 
for  them  to  do  so  than  to  keep  an  exjierienced  man. 

I  afterwards  tell  Mrs.  L.  about  the  men  who  were  drink- 
ing, and  she  blames  the  contractor  for  allowing  them  to 
work  on  Sunday. 

In  one  of  my  conversations  with  Pierre,  something  is 
said  about  their  burying  the  dead  so  soon,  and  I  want  to 
know  why  it  is  done.  But  the  burden  is  thrown  upon  me 
by  the  question,  "  And  why  do  you  keep  the  dead  two  days 
among  you  ?  We  keep  them  only  one  day,  except  in  cases 
of  sudden  death,  without  illness."  He  tolls  me  too,  doubt- 
less in  reply  to  some  remark  al>out  the  rich  here  marrying 
the  rich,  of  a  certain  count  whom  he  knows,  who  was  a 
man  of  broken  fortunes,  and  who  married  a  woman  pos- 
sessing two  million  francs;  but  then,  he  adds,  he  had  the 
stripes  u|)on  his  sleeve,  and  to  be  an  officer  goes  far. 

To  return  to  our  afternoon  walk  ; — when  we  get  to  the 
mineral  spring  we  find  the  bottling  going  on,  for  here  the 
people  have  to  work. 

We  see  two  women  on  the  bank  of  the  pretty  stream. 
One  is  washing  clothes  by  dipping  them  into  the  cold 
water  and  rubbing  them  upon  the  stones.  Pierre  says 
that  they  will  be  well  done.     (Perhaps  she  had  before 


CENTRAL  FRANCE.  285 

scalded  them  in  lye.)  We  see  a  woman  tying  up  the 
vines,  and  Pierre  tells  me  that  this  and  hay-making  are 
the  only  field  labors  that  women  perform  in  this  part  of 
France;  whereas  in  the  south,  where  his  brother  Charles 
was  when  a  soldier,  they  go  out  to  work  in  all  field  labors 
and  come  in  together,  men  and  women.  Afterwards  Charles 
says  that  it  is  in  hoeing  and  cultivating  the  vine  that  the 
women  assist  in  that  department  of  the  Haute  Garonne, 
near  the  Pyrenees ;  and  he  tells  us  that  the  men  help  the 
women  to  make  the  kitoherif  or  to  do  the  housework. 


Tuesday,  July  9th. — This  morning  Mrs.  Lesmontagnes 
is  melting  her  butter.  Lately,  when  about  to  fry  potatoes, 
she  appeared  to  have  lard  in  her  pan,  and  she  took  out  a 
stoneware  pot  half  full  of  a  yellow  substance  which  she 
said  was  butter,  and  of  which  she  put  a  good  quantity  into 
her  frying-pan.  She  said  that  it  was  melted,  and  allowed 
me  to  smell  it.  If  it  had  not  been  melted  and  the  scum 
removed,  it  would  not  remain  sweet.  As  I  now  see  Mrs. 
L.  so  slowly  preparing  her  butter  to  put  it  away,  we  speak 
of  rendering  lard,  and  again  Pierre  and  I  differ.  He 
renders  lard  himself  for  half  a  day,  and  thinks  that  other- 
wise it  will  not  keep.  I  explain  to  him  my  more  rapid 
manner,  but  fail  to  convince  him.  But  if  wood  were  as 
plentiful  with  them  as  with  us,  perhaps  they  would  do  the 
job  more  rapidly.  We  discuss,  too,  the  subject  of  "  making 
the  kitchen"  with  butter;  they  tell  me  that  it  is  more  expen- 
sive than  lard,  but  that  they  do  not  think  lard  equally  good. 
I  tell  them  of  one  of  my  relatives  who  would  not  allow 
pork  in  any  form  to  come  into  his  house.  "  He  was  a 
Jew,"  says  Pierre.  I  laugh  and  shake  my  head,  saying 
that  my  relative  did  not  consider  pork  wholesome.     After- 

13* 


286  FRENCH  AND  BELGIANS. 

wards  I  tell  hitn  that  at  Paris  I  began  to  see  how  these 
things  are  regarded  here,  but  that  many  of  our  peoj)le 
would  consider  it  an  insult  to  be  taken  for  a  Jew.  He 
tells  me  that  it  is  considered  that  Jews  resemble  Catholics 
more  than  Protestants  do.  "Then  you  consider  them 
above  Protestants  ?"  I  ask.  "  Yes."  "  Worse  and  worse !" 
I  say,  laughing,  and  go  away. 


CHAPTER   XIX. 

JvJy  9th. — Pierre  and  I  go  to  vii^it  the  public  schools  in 
the  village,  if  public  I  may  call  them.  The  boys'  school 
is  supported  by  the  commune,  who  pay  twenty-five  hundred 
francs  a  year  to  four  Little  Brothers  of  Mary,  or  Marist 
monks.  It  is  open  ten  months  in  the  year,  and  although 
the  Little  Brothers  receive  lodging  in  the  school  building,  in 
addition  to  their  pay  of  nearly  five  hundred  dollars,  yet  the 
four  will  hardly  make  beasts  of  themselves  by  high  living. 
Theirs  is  a  new  stone  house,  but  this  building-stone  looks 
much  the  same  in  the  new  and  the  old.  Pierre  and  I  enter 
the  stone-paved  yard,  which  has  a  well  in  the  centre,  with 
a  stone  curb  and  hood  like  ours,  but,  in  addition,  a  grating 
in  front  to  keep  the  children  from  falling  in.  Through 
the  basement-window  I  catch  a  view  of  some  working 
individual  whom  Pierre  addresses.  It  is  the  Little  Brother 
who  makes  the  kitchen.  We  go  up-stairs,  and  Pierre  calls 
the  principal  out  and  takes  off  his  hat,  and  says  respect- 
fully that  here  is  some  one  who  would  like  to  visit  the 
8<;ho<jl, — an  American  lady.  "And  why  or  how?"  There 
seems  to  be  a  doubt  of  my  obtaining  entrance.     I  mention 


CENTRAL   FRANCE.  287 

that  I  am  an  acquaintance  of  Mr.  Chevalier,  a  person  of 
importance  here,  wlio  was  formerly  in  Philadelphia.  "Mr. 
Chevalier  is  at  Paris,"  says  the  Brother.  "  Yes,  I  saw  him 
there,  and  madame  too,  and  I  am  to  dine  here  with  ma- 
dame,"  I  reply  ;  and  we  are  allowed  to  enter.  The  Little 
Brother  wears  a  greasy  skull-cap,  and  a  long  robe  of  black 
cloth,  by  no  means  new,  and  around  his  neck  tiiere  is  a 
string  on  which  depends  an  image,  apparently  of  lead. 
He  is  not  a  little  brother  in  person  :  he  is  rather  jolly- 
looking,  having  a  round,  reddish  face;  and  he  smells  of 
snuff.  He  does  not  invite  us  to  sit  down;  for  why?  As 
far  as  I  see,  there  is  only  one  chair.  He  hears  that  I  am 
from  North  America;  I  was  born  in  Philadelphia.  He 
turns  to  the  map  of  the  world,  but  seems  to  have  a  diffi- 
culty in  locating  me.  I  point  out.  He  asks  the  boys  what 
ocean  lies  between,  and  they  answer.  I  remark  that  I  see 
intelligent  eyes  here,  and  I  understand  him  to  reply,  "How! 
They  are  French."  (Afterwards  Pierre  tells  me  that  the 
Brother  did  not  understand  what  I  said  about  ray  origin, 
for  he  is  very  well  informed.)  I  am  not  shown  any  exer- 
cises, nor  invited  to  ask  any  questions.  The  boys  are  stand- 
ing, doubtless  to  express  respect;  and  then  we  go  into  the 
next  room,  where  there  is  another  Brother,  with  another 
black  robe,  not  new,  and  another  image.  He  is  younger, 
and  more  shamefaced  at  receiving  me.  There  is  the  same 
want  of  chairs,  and  I  do  not  stay  long,  and  we  go  down 
the  outside  steps  to  visit  the  third  or  lowest  class,  in  the 
basement.  The  head  Brother  tells  us,  way-making,  how 
they  are  crowded  in  the  winter ;  and  certainly  it  is  not  a 
very  large  building  to  accommodate  one  hundred  and  eighty 
pupils,  and  to  lodge  four  Brothers  besides,  who  are  not  very 
little.  Their  sleeping-rooms,  I  suppose,  are  in  the  story 
above  the  two  school-rooms. 


288  FRENCH  AND   BELGIANS. 

We  go  into  the  lowest  class-room,  where  is  a  Brother, 
apparently  the  youngest  and  the  most  shamefaced  of  the 
three;  and  the  children  stand,  and  the  head  Brother  tells 
me  that  here  they  learn  the  alphabet,  and  he  picks  up  a 
flax-headed  urchin  of  four  years.  He  has  one  or  two  to 
read  to  me.  Possibly  he  thinks  this  class  adapted  to  my 
capacity.  One  reads  painfully  about  Solomon's  temple  in 
a  story-book  from  the  Holy  Bible;  but  another  reads  more 
glibly  upon  a  subject  of  equal  interest.  When  we  go  out, 
the  head  Brother  asks  me  whether  I  am  acquainted  with 
bees;  and  behold  what  a  nice  double  row  of  straw  hives 
there  is  in  a  little  shelter  just  l)eyoud  the  school-yard !  And 
we  look  over  the  stone  wall  down  the  hillside.  Close  to 
us  lies  their  narrow  strip  of  garden,  with  such  nice  salad 
and  other  things.  A  slight  wire  separates  it  from  the  vine- 
yard beyond,  and  the  Brother  picks  up  a  pebble  and  throws 
it  over  to  show  me  the  small  size  of  their  garden.  He 
does  not  seem  to  feel  rich.  Pierre  tells  me  that  a  cur6gave 
this  property  to  the  commune  for  a  school ;  or,  rather,  he 
gave  eight  thousand  francs  on  condition  that  the  school 
should  be  taught  by  the  Marist  Brothers,  and,  if  not  taught 
by  them,  the  heirs  will  get  it  again. 

And  then  we  go  a  little,  little  way,  and  come  to  another 
house  in  the  village,  where  the  Sisters  of  St.  Joseph  keep 
the  girls'  school  of  the  commune,  where  Jeanette,  the  small 
cousin,  goes.  It  is  not  a  public  school  like  ours  at  home. 
No;  scholars  must  pay  if  able.  And  in  the  boys'  school 
they  must  pay  for  books,  which  they  can  buy  from  the 
Brothers.  We  are  received  at  the  girls'  school  by  two  of 
the  Sisters  in  their  black  drosses  and  white  head  and  neck 
attire,  and  with  images  hanging  upon  strings  around  their 
necks.  We  go  through  a  similar  ceremony  to  that  with 
the  Brothers;  and  again  I  mention  the  Chevaliers,  and 


CENTRAL  FRANCE.  289 

again  I  am  admitted ;  but  Pierre  retires  to  a  restaurant 
and  drinks  red  wine.  Would  it  be  dreadful  for  him  to 
enter  the  school  building,  which  is  also  the  nuns'  dwelling? 
It  is  conclude<l  that  I  shall  first  go  up-stairs  to  visit  the 
first  class.  For  this  class  Pierre  has  told  me  that  the  Sis- 
ters receive  five  francs  a  month  for  each  pupil ;  for  the 
second  class,  three  francs ;  for  the  third,  two ;  and  for  the 
fourth,  one.  Also,  in  this  lowest  cla&s,  the  commune 
obliges  them  to  take  the  poor  for  nothing.  Having  en- 
tered the  class-room,  the  two  Sisters  stand,  and  the  woman 
in  charge  stands,  and  the  pupils  stand,  and  I  stand.  The 
head  Sister  shows  me  their  work.  Some  of  the  girls  are 
embroidering  in  bright  colors, — prettier  work  than  that  I 
saw  in  the  school  at  Paris.  I  am  shown,  too,  a  large  piece 
of  good  crocheting,  which  is  for  an  eiderdown,  or  one  of 
those  bed-cashions  before  mentioned.  And  there  is  a 
chemise,  too,  with  neat  stitches  in  the  hem ;  and  they  are 
making  langes, — useful  things  for  a  newly-born  :  "A  trav- 
eller has  a  new-born,  and  we  are  making  langes."  The  girls 
sew  three  hours  a  day.  I  am  invited  to  put  questions,  and 
I  ask,  "What  are  three-fourths  of  sixteen?"  I  am  pretty 
sure  that  the  Sister  on  my  left  speaks  the  correct  answer ; 
but  one  pupil  suggests  seven,  and  another  five.  After  a 
little  questioning,  however,  they  answer  right.  I  tell  them 
whence  I  came,  and  ask  them  what  ocean  I  had  to  cross. 
Silence.  Then  a  delicate  voice  says,  "Arctic  Ocean."  I 
turn  to  a  map  of  the  world  in  a  corner,  and  another  voice 
says,  "  Pacific."  I  tell  them  that  I  could  come  from  my 
country  by  the  Pacific  and  Indian  Oceans ;  and  then  I  tell 
them  about  some  nuns  I  had  met  coming  back  to  France 
from  New  Zealand,  and  show  their  track,  so  the  question 
goes  unanswered  by  the  scholars.  Then  we  go  into  other 
classes.     In  one  room  there  is  a  blackboard  about  twelve 


290  FRENCH  AND  BELGIANS. 

inches  long  and  six  broad.  In  another  there  is  a  larger  one ; 
and  when  those  workmen  drink  less  wine  and  save  their 
wages,  and  are  permitted  to  visit  the  public  schools,  one  of 
them  can  have  it  reblacked,  and  make  it  a  blackboard  in- 
deetl.  In  one  of  the  classes  I  am  shown  a  piece  of  writing, 
headed  "Dictation."  In  the  lowest  class  I  am  shown  a 
book  with  lessons  in  italics,  intended  to  teach  pupils  to  read 
writing.  One  child  reads  aloud  to  me  something  about  a 
legislative  a&sembly, — I  think  of  their  first  Revolution. 
She  does  not  get  along  very  well.  Another,  however,  does 
better.  I  remark  that  it  is  a  difficult  subject,  and  the  head 
Sister  says  so  too.  They  are  quite  nice-looking,  the  two 
who  accompany  me  round  ;  but  their  building  is  inferior  to 
the  Brothers'.  I  do  not  stay  long,  and  in  parting  I  tell 
these  two  how  the  public  is  allowed  to  visit  our  schools: 
we  want  the  parents  to  interest  themselves  in  the  progress 
of  the  children.  They  hear  me,  and  we  part  with  mutual 
politeness.  I  called  the  Brother  monsieur  and  the  Sister 
madame.  When  we  are  again  upon  our  way,  I  begin  to 
express  to  Pierre  sympathy  for  the  Little  Brothers.  I  would 
rather  go  around  as  I  am  now  doing  than  l)e  one  of  those 
liittle  Brothers.  He,  too,  thinks  their  condition  not  envi- 
able. He  thinks  that  they  cannot  have  much,  but  adds 
that  in  the  winter,  when  their  school  is  larger,  it  is  prob- 
able that  they  receive  presents.  I  learn  that  they  am 
make  visits.  Pierre  invite<l  the  head  Brother  to  come  and 
see  them,  and  the  Brother  said  that  he  had  lately  visited 
Pierre's  uncle, — doubtless  the  one  whose  brother  is  a  cur6. 
But  when  I  think  about  these  things,  I  remember  that  it 
is  |)ossil)ly  in  hojje  of  another  reward  tiiat  the  Brother  lives 
as  he  does. 

And  still,  .18  we  are  walking,  Pierre  tells  me  that  one  of 
those  Sisters  of  St.  Joseph  keeps  a  drug-store.     I  tell  him 


CENTRAL  FRANCE.  291 

that  I  think  not.  Mrs.  Apothecary,  at  Paris,  told  me  that 
women  cannot  keep  drug-stores.  He  is  sure  that  the  Sister 
does,  and  says  that  it  would  be  inconvenient  for  them  to  go 
to  Romilies  whenever  they  want  medicine.  I  reply  that 
not  only  does  Truth  live  at  the  bottom  of  a  well,  but  that 
she  is  hidden  there,  like  those  carps  in  the  mud.  He 
further  says  that  this  Sister  was  taught  in  the  School  of 
Medicine  and  Pharmacy  at  Lyons,  and  she  received  a 
diploma  of  capacity;  and  without  that  she  could  not  sell 
"anything  of  pharmacy"  here.  I  think  he  adds  that 
she  could  not  sell  poisons.  He  says,  "We  had  an  herb- 
orist  here,  who  sold  things  belonging  to  pharmacy,  and 
he  gave  a  woman  an  application  for  her  arm.  She  got 
worse,  and  he  was  put  into  prison  for  a  year,  at  Romilies, 
and  never  came  back  here." 


Wednesday,  July  10th. — At  the  dinner-table  Pierre  and 
I  talk  upon  different  subjects,  one  of  which  is  the  estima- 
tion in  which  they  hold  us  in  comparison  with  Jews.  I 
entirely  absolve  him  from  having  introduced  the  subject. 
He  and  I  were  alone  at  the  table  in  the  dining-room,  and 
I  am  guilty  of  having  asked,  "  Why  do  you  think  Jews  are 
better  than  Protestants?"  "Because,"  he  replies,  "they 
say  that  if  the  Messiah  has  come,  the  Catholics  are  in  the 
right ;  but  if,  on  the  contrary,  he  has  not  come,  the  Jews 
are.  And  as  for  Protestants,  they  are  a  sect  apart, — a  new 
religion,  with  no  ancient  foundation."  "But,"  say  I,  "the 
religion  of  the  Jews  is  not  so  ancient  as  paganism."  "  Oh, 
yes;  it  is  the  most  ancient  of  all  religions  in  the  world  ;  it 
was  the  religion  of  Adam :  Adam  expected  the  Measiah, 
and  the  Jews  still  expect  him."  I  tell  him  that  I  wish  he 
could  have  seen  a  religious  meeting  of  Methodists  that  I 


292  FRENCH  AND  BELGIANS. 

saw  in  a  woo<]  in  my  country,  when  there  were  perhaps  five 
tiiousand  persons,  and  Iiow  this  was  sung, — 

"  The  blood  of  Christ,  it  cleanses  me 
As  soon  as  I  believe." 

"  But  that,"  he  says,  "  does  not  prove  that  their  religion  is 
ancient,  and  in  ancient  things  which  concern  reh'gion  we 
siiould  not  make  any  change."  "  But  we  do  not  call  the 
religion  of  the  Protestants  a  new  religion,"  I  say;  "we 
call  it  the  Christian  church  reformed."  "But  why  reform 
that  which  is  ancient?"  he  asks.  "There  are,"  I  reply,  "a 
great  many  people  among  us  who  excessively  fear  Catholics; 
who  fear  that  if  they  should  become  numerous  and  strong 
among  us,  that  we  should  lose  our  liberty  of  religion  and 
our  free  government."  What  Pierre  answered  to  this  I 
am  not  prepared  at  this  time  to  put  into  print.  "And  how 
many  years,"  I  ask,  "  will  you  give  us  to  njount  the 
ladder,  as  you  have  expressed  it,  and  be  obliged  to  begin  to 
go  down  ?"  "  I  do  not  know ;  certainly  not  more  than 
five  or  six  hundred  years;  i)erhaps  not  more  than  two  hun- 
dred; who  can  tell  exactly?" 

Part  of  this  conversation  takes  place  after  dinner,  but  at 
the  table  1  say  to  him,  "  I  want  to  send  you  a  book  of 
compositions  of  our  young  people  that  were  sent  to  the 
Philadelphia  Exposition,  and  brought  here  by  one  of  your 
commissioners  of  education,  and  translated  into  French ; 
that  will  show  you  the  ideas  of  our  young  men  and  young 
women.  I  wisli  you  would  rea<l  one  by  a  boy  of  sixteen 
or  seventeen  u|K)n  newspaj^ers,  and  so  you  will  see  what 
we  think  about  tiie  liberty  of  the  press;  but,  as  the  Scri|)- 
tu re  says,  I  am  afraid  that  that  will  be  |)utting  new  wine 
into  old  bottles,  and  that  these  ideas  will  ferment  in  your 
mind."     "  You  need  not  be  afraid,"  he  says,  "  because  I 


CENTRAL  FRANCE.  293 

have  read  so  much.  For  the  eight  years  since  the  war  that 
I  have  not  been  able  to  labor,  I  have  read  all  sorts  of  books." 
Apparently  in  order  to  show  rae  the  freedom  of  his  opin- 
ions, he  brings  into  my  own  room  a  copy  of  the  New  Tes- 
tament in  the  Protestant  version.  He  says  that  the  cur6 
forbids  their  having  it;  that  the  Epistles  of  Philemon, 
Timothy,  and  Titus  are  not  found  in  their  version  (in  which 
I  afterwards  find,  in  my  own  country,  that  he  is  in  the 
wrong).  He  adds  that  there  are  ridiculous  things  in  this 
version  which  may  make  people  laugh,  and  when  I  inquire 
what  they  are,  he  says,  "One  that  speaks  nearly  thus:  that  a 
woman  has  pain  when  she  gives  birth  to  a  child,  and  that 
ought  not  to  be  put  into  religious  books;  and  there  are 
many  simple  things  like  that  in  this  version.  We  do  not 
have  them  in  our  Catholic  one;  there  is  nothing  in  it  to 
make  peo[)le  laugh  ;  we  keep  such  things  for  romances,  like 
this  of  Alexander  Dumas."*  "And  why,"  I  ask,  "are  not 
your  translations  of  the  Testaments  sold  ?"  "  They  are 
sold ;  most  people  have  an  abridgment, — a  little  one  like 
that  you  saw  at  school, — and  here  are  the  four  Gospels  in 
this  book ;  every  Sunday  there  is  read  part  of  an  Epistle 
and  part  of  a  Gospel."  T  look  at  the  small  volume,  which 
is  "The  Complete  Parishioner,  or  Prayers  for  the  Use  of 
the  Diocese  of  Lyons." 


This  afternoon  we  go  upon  another  excursion  ;  we  go 
after  wool,  and  come  home  shorn. 

I  have  mentioned  that  in  tiie  neighboring  village  of  St. 
Alban  the  daughter  of  the  teacher  passed  the  school  ex- 
amination, although  no  girl  was  presented  from  our  com- 

*  The  two  versions  are  very  nearly  alike.     It  is  probable  that  he 
had  not  seen  theirs. 


294  FRENCH  AND   BELGIANS. 

mnne.  Hearing  these  things,  I  of  course  feel  great  interest 
in  this  teacher,  and  Pierre  kindly  accompanies  rae  to  visit 
his  school.  We  stop,  way-making,  at  the  house  of  one  of 
his  cousins,  who  is  conseiller  municipal^  or  meml^r  of  the 
town  council,  in  the  commune  that  we  are  visiting.  The 
councilman  and  his  wife  receive  us  with  hospitality,  offering 
wine,  etc.,  and  the  councilman  accompanies  us.  In  educa- 
tion and  means  he  probably  resembles  the  average  school 
director  in  my  own  region  in  Pennsylvania.  As  we  three 
walk  over  to  the  village,  Pierre  appears  to  be  telling  his 
cousin  something  I  had  said  about  our  public  schools,  about 
their  being  the  institution  of  which  we  are  most  proud;  so 
then  I  explain  to  them  that  we  have  liberty  of  speech,  of  the 
press,  of  religion,  and  our  public  schools.  It  is  not  a  long 
walk  to  the  village  of  St.  Alban.  The  antiquity  of  the 
place  is  striking,  and  it  was  probably  one  of  the  strong- 
holds of  ancient  feudalism.  Tiiere  is  here  a  heavy  ancient 
tower,  with  stone  steps  deeply  worn,  up  two  flights  of  which 
the  village  boys  go  to  school;  and  then,  most  striking,  are 
the  great  ruins  of  the  ancient  chdteau,  in  part  demolished 
during  the  Revolution,  stone  having  been  taken  from  the 
ruins  to  build  some  of  the  village  houses.  There  is  a  new 
and  ornamental  cemetery  near  the  village,  but  not  all  the 
human  remains  have  been  taken  from  the  old ;  for  behind 
the  church  is  an  un fenced  space,  whose  bank  rises  alK)ve 
our  i)ath;  and  here,  when  the  ciiickens  scratch,  they  bring 
to  light  Imnes.  Some  of  the  people  of  this  village  whom  I 
meet  do  not  seem  so  skilful  in  French  as  the  Lesmontagnes : 
they  are  doubtless  used  to  patois.  St.  Alban  is  not  so  large 
as  our  village,  but  it  holds  a  great  fair  four  times  a  year  for 
selling  animals  of  different  kinds,  the  greatest  being  at  All- 
Saints'  in  November.  We  have  a  fair,  too,  in  our  village, 
but  it  has  only  been  held  about  fifty  years;  this  one  at  St. 


CENTRAL  FRANCE.  295 

Alban's  is  much  more  ancient.  It  is  held  on  a  great  level 
space  near  the  centre  of  the  town,  where  there  is  a  fountain, 
and  a  great  cross  with  the  image  of  Jesus,  the  first  that  I 
remember  seeing  thus  placed  in  the  open  air  since  the  one 
at  Diep})e,  on  the  seashore.  But  when  I  speak  of  it  to 
Pierre,  he  says  that  they  are  in  all  the  communes;  that  they 
have  one  in  their  village,  which  was  concealed  on  Sunday 
by  the  dancing-floor. 

We  go  into  the  old  tower,  but  Pierre  and  T  do  not  mount 
the  worn  steps  so  high  as  Mr.  Councilman.  We  stay  below 
while  he  goes  up  the  second  flight.  His  conversation  with 
the  head  teacher  lasts  so  long  that  Pierre  thinks  we  are  not 
to  be  permitted  to  enter  the  school,  but  we  are  at  length 
invited  up,  and  meet  the  teacher  outside  of  his  school-room. 
He  is  a  middle-aged  man,  with  a  face  somewhat  red.  He 
will  allow  me  to  visit  the  school  if  I  obtain  permission. 
"  From  whom  ?"  I  ask.  "  You  must  write,"  he  answers, 
"to  Mr.  Inspector  of  Academies  at  St.  Martin  in  order* to 
obtain  permission  to  visit  schools  in  our  canton."  "  And 
who  has  permission  to  visit  them?"  I  inquire.  "The 
mayor,  the  cantonal  delegates,  and  the  inspector  have  per- 
mission to  visit  the  schools."  "And  the  parents  of  the 
children?"  I  ask.  "And  what  for?"  he  answers,  "as 
three-quarters  do  not  know  how  to  read  and  write."*  He 
speaks  of  our  being  so  advanced  in  education  in  America, 
and  of  teachere  being  sufficiently  paid,  and  not  receiving 
merely  three  francs  a  day.     I  afterwards  understand  from 

♦According  to  the  census  of  1872,  if  we  set  "aside  children  under 
six  years,  thirty  per  cent,  of  the  French  people  may  be  said  to  be  en- 
tirely devoid  of  education.  In  the  department  spoken  of  in  the  text 
over  twenty-nine  per  cent,  were  unable  to  read  or  write  ;  and  in  an 
adjoining  department,  which  is  mountainous,  over  fifty-two  per  cent. 
— See  Statesman's  Year-Book. 


296  FRENCH  AND  BELGIANS. 

Pierre  that  tlie  Sisters  in  tliis  village  receive  less  than 
that. 

Wlien  the  teacher  decidedly  refuses  my  entrance  to  the 
school,  I  wax  wroth,  and  threaten  that  I  will  write  about 
this  matter,  but  when  I  have  time  to  reflect,  I  remember 
that  I  have  now  seen  all  sides.  This  is  Wednesday ;  I  am  to 
leave  on  Saturday;  I  shall  trouble  no  Mr.  Ins[>ector  of 
Academy,  and  shall  be  exposed  to  no  refusal  from  him. 

Before  leaving  I  speak  to  the  teacher  about  his  daughter 
who  passed  the  examination,  and  inquire  who  taught  her. 
In  a  sort  of  pompous  voice  he  answers,  "These  ladies," 
meaning  the  Sisters  who  teach  the  girls'  school.  I  express 
surprise,  for  the  Sisters  had  sent  no  girls  from  our  village. 
He  returns  to  his  school-room,  and  the  councilman  points 
out  to  me  in  the  little  entry  some  guns  on  a  shelf  above, 
with  which  the  boys  exercise.  I  note  these  in  my  book, 
and  while  we  are  still  there  the  teacher  lotiks  out  his  door. 
I  •feel  a  little  awkward,  and  say,  "  Can  you  tell  me  the 
name  of  this  flower?"  showing  one  I  had  gathered  on  our 
walk.  No,  he  cannot.  "  We  call  it  Forget-me-not,"  I  say. 
"Very  well ;  I  won't  forget  you,"  is  his  last  remark. 

We  went  after  wool,  we  may  go  home  shorn,  down  the 
ancient  stone  stops.  I  am  afterwards  told  that  the  school- 
master at  St.  A receives   twelve   hundred  francs  a 

year  and  dwelling,  and  his  assistant  seven  or  eight  hun- 
dred and  dwelling-roora  too.  Those  who  have  children 
pay  to  the  commune  twelve  francs  a  year.  There  are  thirty 
or  more  children  of  poor  parents  who  pay  nothing.  We 
still  have  a  good  bit  of  the  afternoon  before  us,  and  one  of 
the  men  suggests  that  we  visit  the  church.  Over  the  door 
is  a  statue  of  a  sjiint  with  his  cross  under  his  arm,  and 
alx)ve  it  is  a  statue  which  looks  very  ancient  and  somewhat 
grotesfjue,  having  large  round  eyes,  and  something  upon 


CENTRAL  FRANCE.  297 

the  head  like  a  mitre,  and  a  globe  in  the  hand.  As  we 
enter  the  church,  my  companions  take  off  their  hats,  and 
dip  their  fingers  into  the  vase  of  water,  crossing  them- 
selves ;  but  I  make  no  sign.  As  we  mount  the  stairs  into 
the  bell-tower,  I  have  a  good  opportunity  to  see  the  statues 
above  the  door,  the  ancient  one  higher  up  than  the  other. 
Aloft  in  the  tower  hangs  the  chime  of  bells.  One  of  niy 
companions  says  that  the  bells  were  broken  during  the 
Revolution,  and  have  been  recast.  "And  why,"  I  ask, 
"were  these  things  done  to  the  churches?  One  can  un- 
derstand why  they  destroyed  the  castles,  but  why  the 
churches?"  They  make  no  reply.  On  another  occasion 
Pierre  says  that  the  bells  were  broken  in  nearly  all  the 
communes.  Ours  at  Boissi^res  were  not,  but  most  were, 
and  all  are  not  yet  repaired.  He  says  that  the  old  statues 
were  broken,  and  the  crucifixes  in  the  graveyards.  It 
was  the  people  who  did  it, — the  people  in  revolution. 
For  three  years  there  were  no  services  in  the  churches. 
Before  we  leave  the  spot  I  ask  Pierre  what  that  old  statue 
is  above  the  other.  "  It  is  the  Eternal  Father,"  he  replies. 
I  say,  quietly,  "Does  not  the  Scripture  say,  'Thou  slialt 
not  make  an  image  of  me'?"  No;  he  does  not  think  it 
does.  "What  is  that  upon  the  head?"  "A  crown  of 
many  rows."  On  the  way  home  I  recur  to  the  subject,  and 
ask  him  why  he  thought  the  statue  to  be  such.  "  Because 
there  was  a  globe  in  the  hand."  "  And  what  is  the  first 
commandment?"  "  Thou  shalt  love  the  Lord  thy  God." 
"And  what  is  the  second?"  He  does  not  remember. 
"  Have  you  them  ?"  "  Yes."  "  Does  it  not  say,  '  Thou 
shalt  make  no  graven  image'  ? "  "  No ;  you  say  that 
you  have  the  liberty  of  the  press,  and  you  have  not 
the  liberty  of  making  images."  "But  of  God?"  I  ask. 
*'Does  not  the  Scripture  say  that  God  made  man  in  his 


298  FRENCH  AND  BELGIANS. 

image?"  he  replies;  adding,  "I  find  that  that  is  a  supersti- 
tion, and  I  don't  like  sui)erstitions  myself."  Once  when 
talking  I  laugh  at  something  he  says,  and  try  to  explain 
by  saying  that  he  does  not  understand  that  these  are  the 
points  in  dispute  between  Catholics  and  Protestants;  and 
as  I  note  down  some  of  his  remarks,  I  tell  him  that  he  is 
at  liberty  to  write  down  what  I  say ;  but  he  does  not  want 
to,  it  is  too  simple.  Most  of  this  conversation,  however,  is 
subsequent  to  our  visit  to  the  village  of  St.  Alban.  Before 
letiving  this  village  we  go  to  see  the  old  chateau,  of  which 
a  [wrtion  is  habitable,  two  rooms  being  furnished.  I 
clamber  a  little  about  the  ruinous  part,  and  when  we  get 
down  give  something  to  the  woman  who  keeps  the  key, 
but  my  companions  recompense  her  by  going  into  her  res- 
taurant and  taking  a  bottle  of  beer,  which  is  dearer  than 
wine.  We  also  go  to  the  new  graveyard,  which  is  taste- 
fully laid  out,  but  hanging  on  monuments  are  some  taste- 
less souvenirs  in  black  and  white,  somewhat  like  our  hair- 
work  memorials  at  home. 


Thursday,  July  11th.  —  At  the  breakfast-table  lately, 
Mrs.  Lesmontagncs  and  I  have  our  principal  or  only 
conversation  on  doctrinal  subjects.  She  asks  whether 
Protestants  baptize.  Knowing  her  feelings  on  this  point, 
I  reply  that  all  do  except  one  or  two  sects, — that  Quakers 
do  not;  that  the  Scripture  tells  that  John  said,  "  I  baptize 
you  with  water,  but  there  cometh  one  after  me  who  shall 
baptize  you  with  the  Holy  Ghost  and  with  fire,"  adding 
that  it  was  this  text  which  was  noticed  by  ancient  Quakers. 
She  receives  what  I  say  with  perfect  gmxl  feeling,  and  in- 
quires nearly  as  follows:  "And  was  your  friend  of  whom 
you  have  sjwken  baptized  when  she  entered  the  Catholic 


CENTRAL  FRANCE.  299 

Church  ?"     "  I  presume  so ;  slie  could  uot  be  a  Catholic 
without."     "  No  ;  she  could  not,"  concludes  Mrs.  L. 

At  the  table  this  morning  I  tell  them  that  there  have 
been  people  among  us  who  said  that  every  step  in  the 
dance  is  a  step  towards  hell.  "  And  there  are  people  here 
who  say  so,"  say  one  or  more  of  the  family.  "  Who  are 
they?"  I  inquire.  "The  cur6s,"  says  Pierre,  "the  bigots." 
"  I  say  so,"  says  his  mother.  "  Then,"  I  rejoin,  "  I  may 
say  that  it  is  the  curfe,  the  bigots,  and  Mrs.  Lesmontagnes," 
which  makes  them  laugh.  "Hell  is  full,"  says  Pierre; 
"  there  is  a  big  devil  behind  the  door  with  a  stick,  who 
will  not  let  any  more  come  in."  "You  may  say,"  says 
Madame  L.  during  the  conversation,  "  that  Mrs.  I^esmon- 
tagnes  and  her  sons  are  uot  of  one  mind."  I  tell  them 
that  I  have  not  yet  found  the  gay  grandsire  of  the  English 
poet,  who, 

"Skilled  in  gestic  lore, 
Has  frisked  beneath  the  burden  of  fourscore." 

Then  they  tell  me  of  one  of  their  townsmen  at  the  vil- 
lage who  married  at  eighty  for  the  third  time,  and  who  is 
deaf  as  an  iron  pot,  and  who  still  dances.  You  should  see 
him  jump.  On  my  return  to  America,  however,  I  find 
that  Goldsmith  speaks  really  of  the  burden  of  threescore. 


After  we  got  back  from  our  unsuccessful  walk  to  St. 
Alban,  I  asked  Pierre  for  the  Commandments,  and  he 
brought  me  the  same  book  of  prayers  for  the  diocese  of 
Lyons,  and  shows  me  some  verses, — the  Commandments 
in  simple  rhymes.  I  hear  the  same  quoted  afterwards  at 
Paris,  in  the  north  of  France,  and  in  Belgium. 

They  begin  literally 


300  FRENCH  AND  BELGIANS. 

One  only  God  thou  shall  adore,  and  shalt  lovo  perfectly  ; 
God  in  vain  thou  shalt  not  swear,  nor  other  thing  likewise.* 

Pierre  having  brought  the  little  volume  into  my  own 
room,  and  I  having  seen  these  first  two  commandments,  he 
says,  "So  now  you  see  the  ancient  religion  of  the  Jews, 
and  you  have  changed  it."  I  have  at  hand  no  Catholic 
nor  Jewish  Bible,  nor,  indeed,  any  version  to  show  him,  so 
I  laugh  and  say,  "  If  you  were  my  son  I  would  give  you 
a  little  blow  on  the  cheek, — not  to  hurt."  He  goes  out, 
and  I  begin  to  write;  but  pretty  soon  he  comes  in,  bringing 
me  a  wild-flower  and  an  insect  for  my  collections;  and 
then"  I  tell  him  that  I  had  thought  I  might  have  given 

*  Here  they  are  in  the  original,  two  lines  being  here  thrown  into 
one : 

LES  COMMANDEMENTS  DE  DIEU. 

Un  seul  Dieu  tu  adoreras,  et  aimeras  parfaitement, 
Dieu  en  vain  tu  ne  jureras,  ni  autre  chose  pareillement ; 
Les  Dimanches  tu  garderus,  en  servant  Dieu  devotement; 
Tes  Pdre  et  Mere  honoreras,  afin  de  vivre  longuement; 
Homicide  point  ne  seras,  de  fait  ni  volontuiremcnt; 
Luxurieux  \nnni  ne  seras,  de  corps  ni  de  consentenient ; 
Le  bien  d'autrui  tu  ne  prendras,  ni  retiendras  a  ton  escient; 
Faux  temoignage  ne  diras,  ni  inentirus  aucuncnient. 
L'osuvre  de  ciiair  ne  dosireras  qu'en  mariage  seulement, 
Biens  d'autrui  ne  convoiteras,  pour  les  avoir  injut^temcnt. 

I  add  from  the  same  book  the 

COMMANDEMENTS  DE  L'EGLISE. 

Les  Fdtes  tu  sanctiflcras,  qui  te  sont  de  comniandcment, 
Les  Dimanches  Mcsse  ou'iras,  et  les  fdtos  pareillement, 
Tous  tes  pech^s  confesseras,  A  tout  le  moins  uno  fois  Pan, 
Ton  Creatcur  tu  recevras,  au  moins  a  Paquos,  huinblemcnt, 
Quatre  Temps,  Vigile  jeCineras,  et  le  Cardme  cntidremcnt, 
Yendredi  chair  ne  mangeras,  ni  le  Samcdi  m6mement. 


CENTRAL  FRANCE.  301 

him  offence  by  not  doing  as  he  did  in  the  church, — dipping 
into  the  vase.  "  No,"  he  says,  "  I  am  not  offended  at  any- 
thing that  people  do  in  church ;  but  you  said  you  have 
liberty,  and  twice  to-day  I  see  that  you  have  not.  You 
cannot  make  images,  and  a  young  man  cannot  say  what  he 
wants  to  his  mother  without  having  a  blow."  I  laugh, 
and  say  if  I  had  my  friend's  great  Catholic  Bible  here,  as 

large "As  that,"  he  says,  pointing  to  a  volume  that 

lie  has  brought,  to  show  me  how  bad  one  of  Alexander 
Dumas's  novels  is.  "No  larger?  Then  I  could  show  you 
the  Commandments ;  but  this  is  only  a  little  verse."  "  But 
then,"  he  replies,  "  I  have  seen  the  ancient  history  of  the 
Jews." 

To  me  there  appear  contradictions  in  the  mind  of  Pierre. 
Immediately  after  his  remarks  before  given,  on  dancing 
and  hell;  he  reads  the  telegraphic  news  from  America — 
from  Canada — about  the  fear  of  disturbances  on  the  12th  of 
July ;  and  I  speak  of  the  late  trouble  about  a  man  who 
could  not  be  buried  in  consecrated  ground.  Pierre  says, "  He 
was  not  a  Christian  ?"  "  A  Catholic,  you  mean  ?"  "  Yes ; 
they  were  in  the  right,"  he  says.  Then  I  lamely  add  some- 
thing about  the  man's  having  been  a  Catholic  and  having 
written  some  book. 


This  morning  the  little  cousin  does  not  go  to  school, — 
she  has  to  watch  the  animals  grazing,  while  Toinette  is  at 
work  elsewhere.  I  am  invited  to  dine  in  the  villatje  with 
Mrs.  Chevalier,  who  is  at  home  on  a  visit  from  Paris, 
where  she  is  assisting  her  husband  at  the  Exposition.  As 
little  Jeanette  is  going  to  school  in  the  afternoon,  she  ac- 
companies me  over.  On  the  way  we  meet  little  boys,  who 
know  me  since  I  have  visited  the  school,  and  lift  their  hats 
very  prettily;  and  coming  up  the  hill,  a  little  girl  drops  a 

14 


302  FRENCH  AND  BELGIANS. 

small  courtesy,  and  says,  "  Go<xl-day,  madame."  Altliough 
it  is  so  late  in  the  week,  we  still  see  women  washing  clothes 
in  the  little  river.  They  have  boards  set  up  to  wash  on. 
At  this  season  of  the  year  all  the  women  around  Boissi^res 
come  to  this  river  to  wash  their  clothes, — those  women  who 
take  in  washing, — and  in  a  dry  time  the  women  of  St. 
Jean,  who  have  only  a  little  stream,  come  too,  and  those 
of  St.  Alban.  When  the  weather  is  cold  they  wash  their 
clothes  in  the  house,  and  rinse  them  in  the  river.  There 
was  a  cure  who  gave  two  thousand  francs,  I  hear,  to  build 
a  wash-house  in  our  commune;  and  I  see  one  near  the 
stream,  built  of  stone,  but  only  partly  enclosed,  and  with 
no  utensils  within. 

Approaching  the  village,  I  look  up  at  the  hillside,  planted 
with  vines,  and  I  think  I  can  count  six  rows  of  stone  wall 
that  run  across  it  to  keep  the  soil  from  running  down  into 
the  valley  of  the  Boissit^res. 

Madame  Chevalier  treats  me  first  to  mutton-chops  in 
mashed  potatoes;  second,  sweet-breads  in  tomatoes ;  third, 
string-l)eans;  fourth,  chicken  ;  and  for  dessert  we  have  a 
cake  called  maitefin  tie  censes, — a  thick  cake,  made  of  flour, 
egg,  and  cherries,  and  baked  at  the  baker's, — also  soft 
cheese  with  cream,  different  kinds  of  fancy  cakes  and  Iwn- 
bons,  and  cherries,  strawberries,  and  gooseberries.  She  has 
also  two  kinds  of  wine,  water  from  the  mineral  spring 
which  I  visited,  and  coffee. 

In  the  afternoon  Madame  Chevalier  takes  me  to  ride; 
her  man  drives,  and  her  little  son  accompanies  us.  The 
aMintry  here  is  beautifully  diversified,  and  the  roads  are 
fine.  I  am  pleased  to  hear  the  servant  cidl  the  little  son 
"  my  friend."  Si)eaking  of  the  men  who  were  drinking  on 
Monday  instead  of  mending  the  roads,  Madame  Chevalier 
says  that  the  saying  is,  they  are  making  or  keeping  Holy 


CENTRAL  FRANCE.  303 

Monday.  We  sometimes  speak  of  persons  who  will  never 
set  the  river  on  fire :  they  have  several  expressions  of  the 
same  kind ;  one  is,  "  He  has  not  stolen  the  Holy  Ghost." 
Madame  Chevalier  tells  me  of  the  rides  that  she  has  had 
with  her  husband  (who  is  now  at  the  Exposition).  We 
speak  of  chestnuts,  and  she  remarks  the  small  size  of  ours, 
for  she  has  visited  Philadelphia.  She  is  sorry  when  chest- 
nut-time comes,  for  then  the  fine  days  are  drawing  to  a 
close. 

Towards  evening,  as  I  am  returning  from  the  village  to 
Mrs.  Lesmontagnes's,  Mrs.  Chevalier's  daughter  and  niece 
accompany  me  for  a  short  distance.  Cows  are  passing 
along  the  road,  and  I  observe  a  young  girl  with  a  basket 
and  shovel  collecting  the  droppings.  One  of  my  young 
companions  thinks  that  they  are  to  be  put  to  the  vines. 


CHAPTER    XX. 


Fnday,  July  bth. — Twice  I  visit  the  village  church. 
Pierre  tells  me  that  it  is  much  more  ancient  than  that  of 
St.  Alban.  He  says  that  it  is  the  oldest  and  worst  in  the 
canton ;  he  thinks  it  is  six  hundred  years  old.  I  observe 
its  stone  buttresses,  and  a  great  stone  vessel  before  the  door, 
large  enough  to  receive  a  child  of  some  size.  It  is  a  bap- 
tistery, and  once  stood  within  the  church.  The  reason 
given  for  removing  it  is  that  it  took  up  too  much  room. 
Such  simple  stone  vessels  may  be  of  great  age.  The  stone 
pavement  of  the  church  is  bad  enough,  but  I  incline  to  the 
opinion  that  Pierre  over-estimates  the  age  of  the  building. 
He  tells  me  that  there  is  a  Greek  inscription  above  one  of 


304  FRENCH  AND  BELGIANS. 

the  doors,  and  I  find  it  witliin,  but  it  is  Latin.  A  portion 
of  it  reads  thus:  "  Tlie  illustrious  and  reverend  doctor  of 
divinity  John  Dionysius  de  Vienne  consecrated  this  church 
and  the  greater  altar  on  the  24th  of  September,  1776." 

I  have  said  to  Pierre  that  I  supposed  that  the  law  ex- 
cluding the  public  was  to  prevent  ecclesiastics  from  coming 
and  haranguing  the  children ;  but  he  tells  me  that  the  cur6 
and  the  mayor  are  the  only  persons  in  the  commune  who 
have  permission  to  visit  the  public  schools.  Also  the 
Brothers  in  all  France  can  visit  the  schools  conducted  by 
the  Brothers,  but  not  those  under  lay  teachers. 

When  we  were  at  the  village  of  St.  A! ban,  where  we 
could  not  visit  the  school,  I  said  to  Pierre,  "There  is  illib- 
erality  here."  "Yes,"  he  replied.  "What  are  the  poli- 
tics '?"  I  asked.  "  Republican, — the  strongest  republican 
commune  in  our  canton."  On  another  occasion  he  says, 
"The  republiam  cantons  are  the  most  illiberal.  You  saw 
that  the  Brotiiers  admitted  you.  The  Brothers  are  never 
republican,  nor  the  priests.  I  do  not  know  one  who  is,  and 
I  do  not  believe  there  ever  will  be  one."  "  But  why  are  they 
not  republicans?  Do  not  you  hear  them  speak  upon  the 
subject?"  "  They  come  here  to  visit  us;  we  talk  about 
the  schools,  the  harvests,  and  so^on,  but  never  upon  poli- 
tics, because  they  know  that  I  am  a  republican ;  and  rarely 
on  religion,  be(ause  I  do  not  always  frequent  church."  I 
tell  iiim  about  a  i)er.son  I  met  in  Paris, — a  free-thinker, — 
and  how  some  of  her  acquaintances  thought  that  she  had 
told  me  a  falsehood.  He  thinks  it  very  probable  that  she— 
liad,  and  says  tiiat  free-thinkers  are  great  liars.  I  retiur  to 
a  former  subject,  and  tell  Pierre  that  I  want  him  to  ask  a 
Jew  what  arc  the  first  two  ct>mniandinents.  He  says  that 
he  knows  one  at  Ii(miilics,  and  that  he  will  ask  him. 
'*  You  have  told  me,"  he  says,  "  that  we  ought  not  to  make 


CENTRAL  FRANCE.  305 

a  statue  or  effigy  of  the  Eternal  Father,  and  why  so  ?  I 
myself  find  nothing  more  stupid  than  to  say  that  one 
should  not  make  an  image  of  anything  whatever.  You 
take  photographs.  You  are  superstitious."  I  try  to  ex- 
plain to  him  that  the  priests  of  the  Jews  had  much  trouble 
with  them  because  tiiey  would  worship  images.  "  But," 
he  says,  "those  were  images  of  animals;  it  was  not  pro- 
hibited to  make  an  image  of  the  Almighty,  when  man  was 
made  in  his  image,  in  order  to  have  an  image  of  the  Su- 
preme Being  constantly  before  his  eyes."* 

Afterwards,  when  we  are  talking  upon  the  front  porch, 
Pierre  himself  introduces  the  subject.  "There,"  he  says, 
"is  the  Eternal  Father;  see  how  he  extinguishes  the  fire; 
he  only  can  do  it."  I  look  where  he  points  towards  the 
great  gateway  coming  into  the  court-yard,  but  I  see  no 
wooden  image,  nor  any  other.  I  find  that  he  alludes  to 
the  little  bright  new  sign  of  their  insurance  company.  La 
Patemelle,  which  bears  the  picture  of  a  man  hovering  over 
a  globe.  He  tells  me  that  this  is  one  of  the  oldest  insurance 
societies  in  France.  I  tell  him  that  there  have  been  per- 
sons with  us  who  did  not  want  to  have  their  own  pictures 
taken  on  account  of  its  savoring  of  idolatry.  "  They  were 
not  well  baked,"  he  says.  He  quotes  an  expression  which 
he  says  is  from  the  gospel :  "Whoso  has  the  image  of  God 
constantly  before  his  eyes  cannot  sin."     We  dine  alone  as 

*  The  following  passage  will  be  found  in  the  version  of  the  Hebrew 
Scriptures  (Philadelphia,  1859)  by  Rev.  Isaac  Leeser,  of  the  Hebrew- 
faith.     It  is  from  Deuteronomy,  chap.  v.  : 

"  Thou  shalt  have  no  other  gods  before  me. 

"  Thou  shalt  not  make  unto  thyself  any  graven  image,  any  like- 
ness of  any  thing  that  is  in  the  heavens  above,  or  that  is  on  the  earth 
beneath,  or  that  is  in  the  water  under  the  earth  ; 

"  Thou  shalt  not  bow  thyself  down  unto  them,  nor  serve  them." 


306  FRENCH  AND  BELGIANS. 

usual,  and  at  dinner  I  say  to  him,  "  Now  I  see  why  the 
Catholics  are  so  much  opposed  to  the  Protestant  vei*sion ; 
I  never  understood  it  before."  He  answers,  "  It  is  because 
they  don't  like  lies,  or  new  things, — invented  things,  if  you 
like  that  better."  "  Then  you  do  not  think  that  the  Cath- 
olic Church  is  opposed  to  republicanism,  if  the  clergy  are?" 
"  No;  Jesus  Christ  was  a  republican  ;  he  said,  *  Love  each 
other;'  he  did  not  say,  *  Make  war  upon  each  other.'" 

Speaking  of  the  clergy,  he  says  that  some  are  partisans  of 
Henry  V.  (of  the  old  Bourbon  line),  some  are  Orleanists, 
and  some  Bonapartists.  I  ask  him  what  the  workingmen 
are.  He  answers  that  some  are  republicans,  some  Bona- 
partists, and  some  Orleanists;  but  that  they  hate  Henry 
V.  as  the  devil  hates  holy  water. 

One  of  their  neighbors,  a  man  with  whom  they  are  very 
intimate,  comes  to  see  them  in  the  afternoon,  and  the  sub- 
ject of  divorce  is  up.  He  says  that  divorce  exists  in  France 
for  defects  of  nature.  We  speak  of  the  law  of  divorce  in 
my  country,  divorce  for  infidelity,  and  one  or  two  of  them 
say  that  if  this  were  ground  for  divorce  here  there  would 
be  thousands  divorced,  and  some  of  them  ten  times.  And 
Pierre  adds,  smiling,  "We  have  more  liberty  than  you." 


Madame  Lesmontagnes  has  told  me  that  there  were  lately 
a  man  and  woman  upon  the  road  near  their  vilhige  with 
two  children.  They  had  an  ass,  and  a  |)oor  wagon  or  c^irt, 
and  the  woman  had  just  given  birth  to  another  child.  The 
first  who  found  them  went  to  inform  the  mayor,  who  said 
tliat  they  mast  be  put  into  a  tavern,  and  that  the  bureau  de 
bienfaisance,  or  office  of  charity,  would  pay  the  expense. 
The  curC'  baptized  the  child,  a  man  who  was  drinking  at 
the  restaurant  was  gwlfather,  and  there  was  a  mason  who 


CENTRAL   FRANCE.  307 

said  that  if  the  man  would  behave  himself  he  would  fur- 
nish him  with  work.  The  cure  sent  the  woman  a  piece  of 
forty  sous,  and  gave  her  a  pound  of  sugar  when  the  child 
was  baptized,  and  without  doubt  it  was  for  this  child  that 
the  langes  were  made  at  the  girls'  school,  as  I  have  told. 

I  inquire  what  is  this  office  of  charity  just  mentioned, 
and  I  am  told  that  at  the  mayor's  office  they  keep  a  list  of 
the  poor  of  the  commune,  and  every  year  a  sum  is  voted 
for  their  succor.  This  office  also  receives  presents  from 
diffiirent  persons;  sometimes  persons  in  dying  give  to  the 
bureau  de  bienfaisance.  It  does  not  distribute  money,  but 
gives  clothes,  meat,  bread.  The  nuns  give  out  the  bread 
every  Monday  from  their  house,  and  meat  for  the  sick  poor. 
There  are  also  asylums  for  the  poor  and  for  old  men,  per- 
haps six  or  seven  in  this  department;  and  two  orphanages 
are  supported  by  the  department. 


I  ask  what  is  the  pay  of  the  cure.  They  say  that  here 
the  government  pays  the  cure  one  thousand  francs  (not 
a  heavy  salary),  and  the  abb6  who  assists  him  six  hun- 
dred, about  one  hundred  and  twenty  dollars;  the  commune 
gives  them  their  house  and  garden.  Pierre  adds,  "  For  the 
burial  of  my  brother  we  paid  the  cure  one  hundred  francs, 
which  included  the  expense  of  candles.  At  the  time  of 
the  vintage  the  cur6  sends  from  house  to  house  to  collect 
wine, — his  passion,  as  we  say.  He  sends  two  men,  each  to  a 
different  part  of  the  commune,  and  every  one  gives  what 
he  chooses,  some  giving  nothing.  Last  year  the  cur6  of 
our  commune  collected  thirty-two  hectolitres  [about  eight 
hundred  and  forty-eight  gallons].  Counting  the  wine,  the 
marriages,  the  baptisms,  etc.,  he  probably  receives  two 
thousand  francs  a  year."     His  assistant  receives  the  six 


308  FRENCH  AND  BELGIANS. 

hundred  above  mentioned,  and  he  also  says  masses  for  the 
repose  of  the  dead  or  for  the  living,  for  which  people  pay 
him.  For  each  ma&s  he  receives  two  francs,  which  he  gives 
to  the  cur6  to  pay  for  his  food. 

I  use  tiie  expression  making  masses,  but  Pierre  says  that 
they  were  made  by  Christ  and  his  apostles  eighteen  hun- 
dred and  seventy-eight  years  ago.  He  adds,  "  You  may 
reniark  that  there  must  have  been  very  great  events  at  that 
epo<*h  to  change  the  era ;  it  was  the  year  4004  of  the  an- 
cient era,  and  you  see  that  there  must  have  been  very  great 
events  to  change  it." 

I  reply,  "  But  that  was  the  era  of  the  Jews,  not  of  the 
Romans;  the  Jews  were  an  insignificant  nation,  conquered 
by  the  Romans."  "The  Jews  were  not  insignificant,"  he 
replies,  "  because  they  are  the  most  ancient  of  all  nations. 
The  Romans  came  from  the  Jews,  and  you  Americans  and 
all  other  nations.  You  must  buy  an  Old  Testament  at 
Paris  and  inform  youi'self." 

I  ask,  "  And  at  what  epoch  did  the  Romans  issue  from 
the  Jews  ?" 

He  replies,  "  Take  an  Old  Testament,  and  you  will  sec. 
How  funny  you  are  not  to  know,  when  you  are  older  than 
I !  The  Jews  were  the  most  ancient  people ;  all  others  must 
have  come  from  them,  as  they  coidd  not  fall  from  heaven." 

I  say,  "  The  Romans  themselves  said  that  Romulus  and 
Remus  were  sons  of  Mars." 

"  But  that  is  their  mythology,"  he  replies:  "it  is  not  his- 
t*)ry."  He  tells  me  that  lie  never  hesird  it  Siiid  before  that 
the  |>oj)e  or  the  Catholic  Church  has  the  keys  of  heaven. 
It  is  St.  Peter.  The  curOs  say  that  if  they  refuse  to  any 
one  absolution  or  the  last  sacnunents  that  this  j)erson  (an- 
not  enter  heaven;  but  more  than  half  in  the  country,  and 
more  than  three-quarters  in  cities,  do  not  believe  it. 


CENTRAL  FRANCE.  309 

Pierre  tells  me  that  young  men  do  not  always  object  to 
going  for  soldiers,  although  they  receive  little  or  no  wages. 
I  reply  that  it  gives  them  an  opportunity  to  see  the  world, 
to  which  he  accedes. 

I  inquire  of  the  young  men  as  to  how  much  work  able 
men  can  do  here  in  a  day ;  one  replies  that  it  requires  three 
very  good  workmen  to  cut  with  sickles  a  hectare — two  and 
a  half  acres — of  wheat  in  a  day.  As  to  grass,  if  it  be 
straight,  and  the  ground  not  hilly,  a  man  can  cut  two  and 
a  half  acres  in  a  day.  I  observe  that  their  scythes  are 
shorter  than  ours,  resembling  somewhat  our  brier  scythes. 
The  meadow  here  can  yield  about  five  tons  of  hay  to  two 
and  a  half  acres,  but  some  yield  only  half  as  much. 


I  also  ask  the  young  men  whether  they  have  any  very 
strong  men  among  them,  and  they  tell  of  a  granger  of 
theirs,  or  one  who  rents  another  property  from  them,  who 
'can  take  a  potful  of  potatoes  weighing  altogether  near  a 
hundred  pounds,  and,  lifting  it  by  his  little  finger,  can  hang 
it  upon  the  hook  in  the  chimney.  There  was  also  a  man 
at  the  village  who  could  lift  from  the  ground  a  cask  of 
wine  of  about  fifty  gallons,  place  it  upon  his  knees,  take  it 
in  his  hands,  and  drink  from  the  bung. 


Friday,  July  12th,  and  my  last  day  at  Boissi^res;  the 
morning  cloudy  and  the  weather  cooler,  the  wind  being 
northwest.  From  that  point  come  their  long  storms,  as 
ours  from  the  northeast.  Last  evening  about  sunset  Mrs. 
Lesmontagnes  allowed  me  to  visit  hev  gi-enier, — the  granary 
or  upper  story  of  the  house.     Thus  we  may  see  why  even 

14* 


310  FRENCH  AND  BELGIANS. 

in  Paris  garrets  liave  been  called  greniers.  Mrs,  L.'s  gar- 
ret is  an  immense  place,  and  makes  us  observe  how  large 
the  house  is.  In  the  first  room  that  we  enter  there  is  grain, 
some  of  it  ready  ground,  lying  in  bags;  it  is  all  rye  but 
one  bag.  In  a  corner  stands  a  large  machine  for  cleaning 
grain,  similar  to  one  I  saw  in  my  own  country  some  twenty- 
five  years  ago.  (In  one  of  our  walks  Pierre  showed  me  an 
American  hay-fork,  and  American  ploughs  are  sometimes 
sold  here.)  Here,  too,  are  beans,  some  of  them  still  un- 
shelled, — such  as  we  call  soup  l)eans,  but  they  call  them 
])eas ;  they  grow  among  the  vines.  Here,  also,  are  two 
large  bunches  of  skeins  of  hemp.  "Oh,  madame,"  I  say, 
"  you  are  rich  !"  and  I  understand  that  she  wants  to  have 
a  dozen  sheets  for  each  son  who  marries.  In  a  small  room 
she  has  some  dried  cherries ;  also  little  cheeses, — part  of  them 
made  of  cows'  milk,  part  of  goats', — hand-cheeses  we  may 
call  them  :  they  are  ranged  here  for  winter.  In  a  passage 
is  a  great  basket  made  of  straw,  with  a  lid,  and  in  it  are 
the  dried  apples  and  pears  from  which  she  makes  piquette. 
We  go  into  another  large  room,  and  she  lifts  a  lid  from  a 
great  chest  and  gives  me  English  walnuts,  offering  more 
than  I  want.  Here  is  the  cradle  in  which  her  children 
were  rocked  ;  she  thinks  that  it  is  alwut  one  hundred  years 
old.  It  has  two  upright  posts  four  feet  or  more  in  height, 
and  between  them,  at  the  top,  hangs  a  long,  narrow,  shallow 
trough,  which  is  the  cradle.  If  the  children  had  fallen  out 
they  would  have  Ixicn  hurt  upon  a  tile  floor,  but  she  tie<l 
them  in.  Then  we  go  into  another  great  place,  and  madame 
opens  the  door  of  a  common  wardrobe;  within  are  tw<T 
boxes,  in  one  her  hams  and  shoulders,  in  the  other  bacon, — 
all  kei)t  in  ashes.  In  this  room  they  spread  the  walnuts  to 
dry.  In  the  hust  big  place  that  we  go  into  she  dries  her 
clothes  in  bad  weather  in  the  winter.     She  calls  my  atten- 


CENTRAL   FRANCE.  311 

tion  to  some  painting  on  a  part  of  the  wall,  and  from  it  I 
judge  that  the  house  has  been  raised,  and  that  formerly  this 
part  was  not  so  high.  In  tiiis  same  place  are  a  quantity  of 
wooden  shoes, — sabots;  when  they  have  wood  on  hand,  they 
get  a  man  to  come  and  make  them.  This  costs  eight  sous 
a  pair  and  his  board.  Sabots  made  from  walnut-wood  cost 
about  twenty  sous,  but  from  other,  twelve  to  fifteen.  Mrs. 
L.'s  last  about  three  months,  Toinette's  three  weeks.  Ma- 
dame brings  a  much  prettier  pair  to  show  me.  All  the  top, 
except  the  small  piece  behind,  is  made  of  leather,  and  they 
liave  thick  wooden  soles.  She  wears  these  to  church  in  the 
winter.  The  leather  is  bright :  the  soles  can  be  renewed. 
When  Mrs.  L.  went  to  walk  with  me  lately,  she  wore  em- 
broidered shoes,  entirely  black,  with  leather  soles.  These, 
or  leather  shoes,  she  wears  to  church  in  the  summer.  I 
have  a  pair  of  lasting  shoes  or  boots  which  I  want  to  give 
to  the  farmer's  mother,  who  has  shown  me  some  civility, 
but  Mrs.  L,  thinks  that  it  is  not  worth  while,  for  she  onlv 
wears  sabots.  There  are  about  ten  good  old  women  like 
her  who  wear  sabots  to  church.  Seeing  so  many  wooden 
shoes,  I,  of  course,  want  to  know  the  price  of  leather  ones, 
and  I  learn  that  men's  ankle-boots  cost  about  three  dollars. 


The  farmer  is  "  an  old  boy" — or,  in  legal  phrase,  a  cMi- 
baiaire — of  thirty-four,  and  his  mother  keeps  the  house. 
He  is  now  cutting  a  large  piece  of  rye,  and  to-day  they 
have  eleven  hired  hands,  besides  himself  and  his  brother 
and  uncle.  His  mother  is  here  a  few  moments  (she  comes 
into  our  yard  for  water);  she  is  now  getting  their  dinner, 
and,  although  sixty-six  years  old,  has  no  one  to  help  her,  for 
her  domestic  is  out  with  the  grazing  cattle.  While  she 
guards  them  she  knits,  spins,  or  sews  for  the  family.     I 


312  FRENCH  AND  BELGIANS. 

see  her  going  out  with  a  distaff  of  hemp.  When  I  before 
saw  the  picture  of  St.  Germaine,  with  her  sheep  and  her 
distaff,  I  little  thought  it  to  represent  anything  modern. 
At  eleven  the  domestic  will  come  in  and  help  with  the 
dinner.  The  mother  will  give  the  men  vegetable  soup,  or 
occasionally  she  has  rice  soup  with  milk  in  it.  After  the 
soup  she  will  have  omelets ;  it  will  tidce  three  or  four  for 
so  many  men, — fourteen  in  all.  She  will  also  have  salad, 
and  bread  and  cheese, — made  irom  skimmed  milk,  or  from 
unskimmed  goats'  n)ilk.  They  have  wine  also,  and  Mi"s. 
L.  says  they  are  not  ill-fed.  At  noon  the  domestic  milks 
the  cows  and  the  goat, — for  this  is  done  three  times  a  day, — 
and  at  three  o'clock  she  will  go  out  again  with  the  animals. 
At  four  the  men  will  have  a  lunch  in  the  field  ;  some  one 
will  come  in  to  help  the  mother  take  it  out.  It  will  be 
bread,  cheese,  and  salad,  and  wine,  of  course,  for  they  drink 
wine  at  their  four  meals ;  but  when  they  are  thirsty  between 
meals  they  have  piquette;  they  do  not  drink  water,  they 
do  not  like  it.  At  eight  the  men  have  their  supper  of  soup 
and  cheese.  It  is  not  customary  to  give  harvest-hands 
meat,  even  once  a  day,  except  at  breakftst,  when  a  bit  of 
bacon  is  put  into  the  soup,  but  not  on  Friday.  For  -as 
many  men  as  there  are  here  she  will  put  in  about  a  French 
pound  (one-tenth  hcjivier  than  ours).  The  breakfast  is  also 
bread,  cheese,  and  wine.  After  the  harvest  is  finished  they 
make  ti>e  rivolle  (whence  comes  our  word  revel?).  This 
is  a  supper,  for  which  they  will  boil  a  ham,  and,  for  so 
many,  prepare  a  couple  of  rabbits,  if  they  have  them, — 
rabbits  stewed  with  wine.  The  rivolle  will  also  be  com- 
j)osed  of  bread,  salad,  and  wine.  The  farmer's  mother  will 
drew*  her  salad  with  walnut  oil,  salt,  pepper,  vinegar,  and 
a  little  garlic.  After  the  grapes  are  trodden  the  wine 
remains  twenty-four  hours  in  the  vat,  and  the  grapes  are 


CENTRAL  FRANCE.  313 

pressed  the  same  day.  The  press  here  is  large,  and  is 
worked  by  four  or  five  men.  At  supper  on  this  day  there 
is  anotlier  rivolle,  another  ham,  but  only  one  rabbit  will 
suffice,  for  not  so  many  men  are  needed.  Also  there  will 
be  a  good  leg  of  mutton,  for  always  when  they  draw  the 
wine  they  have  a  leg  of  mutton  with .  potatoes  around  it. 
Sometimes  the  women  make  a  brioche  and  a  good  pie,  and 
tiiere  is  as  much  wine  as  they  want. 

There  is  a  rustic  gathering  here  which  also  deserves 
mention.  Pierre  tells  me  tliat  they  make  a  hundred 
pounds  or  more  of  walnut  oil  for  their  own  use,  which 
sells  at  the  grocer's  at  about  twenty-five  sous  the  French 
pound.  During  long  winter  evenings  they  take  out  the 
kernels,  and  they  invite  their  neighbors  to  come  and  help 
them.  Afterwards  they  will  drink  a  cup  and  have  a  dance. 
Then  they  will  go  and  help  their  neighbors.  His  mother 
says  that  they  have  had  as  many  as  sixty  at  what  they  call 
a  veillee  for  cracking  walnuts.  They  crack  them  with  a 
wooden  hammer,  as  the  shells  are  thin,  and  others  pick  out 
the  kernels,  drawing  the  shells  down  to  the  floor.  And 
when  they  are  ready,  they  have  a  collation ;  they  may 
have  chestnuts,  roasted  or  boiled,  walnuts,  apples,  and 
wine,  and  then  they  dance  till  midnight  or  after. 

Our  hogs  weigh  from  two  to  four  hundred  pounds, 
French.  We  have  two  here,  but  shall  not  kill  both  on 
the  same  day.  The  butcher  comes  from  the  village,  but 
when  Mrs.  L.'s  husband  was  living  he  himself  killed  them. 
Some  days  after  butchering,  people  invite  their  friends, — 
six  to  ten  persons, — and  have  a  great  dinner  of  perhaps  ten 
courses.  Generally  the  dessert  is  arranged  upon  the  table 
before  the  guests  sit  down,  and  then  the  dishes  are  brought 
on  one  by  one,  changing  the  plates  for  each  course.  In 
the  beginning  they  drink  the  new  wine,  but  with  the  des- 


314  FRENCH  AND  BELGIANS. 

sert  the  old  ;  and  then  coffee  and  gouites,  or  small  quantities 
of  kirsch,  and  other  liquors.  They  remain  at  table  three 
or  four  hours;  but  in  general  such  a  feast  is  given  only 
once  a  year,  altliough  sometimes  rej>eated  at  carnival. 
About  three-fourths  of  the  people  make  one  of  these  feasts 
in  a  year.  Not  many  unannounced  visits  are  made  here. 
Four  or  five  times  a  year  friends  will  be  invited  to  come 
and  see  them.  If  a  neighbor  comes  upon  an  errand  he  is 
always  offered  something  to  drink ;  one  of  the  farmer's 
hands  was  in  lately,  and  liquor  was  produced. 


Mrs.  L.  tells  me  that  when  a  young  man  here  wishes  to 
become  acquainted  with  a  young  woman,  he  addresses  him- 
self to  an  acquaintance  of  the  family,  wiio  applies  to  the 
parents  for  leave  to  introduce  him.  If  he  has  been  intro- 
ducetl,  and  the  parents  conclude  that  he  is  not  suitable, 
they  tell  him  not  to  come  any  more.  Even  after  there  is 
question  of  marriage,  the  young  people  are  never  left 
together  without  one  of  the  parents  being  present.  If  a 
young  man  comes  to  ask  for  a  young  lady  in  marriage, 
Mrs.  L.  says  that  the  parents  inform  themselves  concerning 
his  family,  whether  it  is  res|)ectable,  and  whether  the  young 
man  is  sage,  or  well-behaved.  At  length  the  parents  of  the 
two  parties  will  meet  to  settle  affairs  concerning  the  mar- 
riage. The  parents  of  the  young  man  come  to  the  residence 
of  the  young  woman,  and  after  having  had  a  good  dinner, 
and  drunk  well,  and  having  talketl  on  various  other  matters, 
the  rest  of  the  family,  knowing  very  well  what  is  going  on, 
will  lejive  the  parents  alone,  and  the  father  of  the  young 
man  will  speak  in  this  manner:  "  We  have  not  come  here 
for  nothing ;  we  have  come  to  speak  of  the  marriage  of  our 
children ;"  adding  (if  he  is  a  well-to-do  proprietor),  "  I  give 


CENTRAL  FRANCE.  315 

tvrentj-five  thousand  francs  to  ray  son  ;  how  much  can  you 
give  your  daughter?"  Her  parents  oifer  about  the  same; 
and  if  they  do  not,  the  marriage  is  not  settled,  and  the 
parties  separate;  but  sometimes,  perhaps  once  in  ten  times, 
it  Is  found  that  there  is  too  much  attachment  between  the 
young  people  to  continue  the  prohibition,  and  they  are 
allowed  to  marry.  And  sometimes  it  happens,  when  the 
young  people  are  of  age,  if  the  parents  entirely  refuse  to 
consent,  that  the  young  pair  send  them  the  respectful  sum- 
mons (of  which  I  shall  speak  hereafter),  and  they  are  then 
allowed  by  law  to  marry.  This  happens  once  in  three  or 
four  years  in  this  commune.  Often  the  money  given  to 
children  in  marriage  is  paid  in  instalments,  so  much  a  year. 
The  husband  of  Mrs.  L.'s  daughter  received  from  his 
parents  a  piece  of  land  worth  about  four  thoasand  dollai's, 
and  Mrs.  L.  gave  her  daughter,  on.  her  own  part  and  that 
of  her  deceased  husband,  a  vineyard  worth  about  three 
thousand  six  hundred,  and  the  young  woman  is  to  receive 
more  from  her  mother  or  from  her  estate.  She  says 
that  the  young  people  are  well  settled,  well  matched,  and 
that  both  are  industrious.  He  is,  too,  a  merchant  of  sabots: 
he  buys  from  those  who  make  them,  and,  having  much  wood, 
also  has  them  made  for  himself,  and  twice  a  week  he  goes 
to  Romilies  to  sell  them.  The  sum  given  by  parents  in 
money  or  in  land  does  not  include  the  wedding  outfit. 
The  young  man's  mother  gave  him  (for  in  this  matter  it  is 
the  mothers  who  are  intereste<l)  a  furnished  bed,  a  dozen 
sheets,  a  dozen  table-cloths,  a  dozen  towels,  and  a  dozen 
napkins;  also  three  dozen  shirts  of  hemp  and  linen.  Mrs. 
L*.  gave  to  her  daughter  two  dozen  sheets,  two  dozen  table- 
cloths, the  same  of  napkins,  and  two  and  a  half  dozen 
towels;  also  a  furnished  be<l,  a  wardrobe,  and  a  night- 
table.     The  parents  of  the  young  man  gave  him  a  large 


316  FRENCH  AND  BELGIANS. 

bureau,  and  the  rest  of  the  furniture  he  bought.  They 
live  with  the  parents  of  the  young  man,  in  rooms  inde- 
pendent of  tlieirs,  and,  if  they  should  prefer,  can  keep 
house  in  their  own  two  rooms, — a  kitchen  and  sleeping- 
room.  Here  I  feel  inclined  to  parody  the  poet,  and  to  say, 
"From  homes  like  these  the  Gallic  glory  springs." 

The  marriage  at  the  mayor's  office  costs  nothing,  but 
there  was  also  the  mass,  where  the  cur6  married  them, 
putting  the  ring  upon  the  first  joint  of  the  bride's  finger, 
the  husband  finishing  this  ceremony.  For  this  marriage 
the  cur6  receives  twelve  francs.  Mrs.  L.  tells  me,  "There 
were  about  eighty  persons  invited  to  the  marriage  of  my 
daughter,  and  all  who  were  invited  went  to  the  mass,  and 
afterwards  came  here  to  dine  at  noon.  We  had  perhaps 
twenty  courses.  We  had  ham  and  boiled  beef, — we  took 
forty  pounds  of  beef  There  was  calf's  head  A  la  peau, 
stewed  chickens,  duck  with  turnips,  roast  log  of  mutton, 
fowls  with  rice.  We  had  eight  ducks,  eight  turkeys,  and 
four  geese,  and  there  was  a  dish  of  little  birds.  Pierre 
and  one  of  his  companions,  who  was  at  the  wedding,  went 
hunting  the  day  before,  and  got  sparrows,  larks,  and  fig- 
})eckers.  I  think  that  we  must  have  pluckal  altogether 
one  hundred  birds ;  and  we  had  three  vols  au  vent,  or  pies 
made  from  the  livers  of  the  poultry  and  little  birds.  The 
confectioner  at  Boissit^res  brought  us  a  complete  dessert,  and 
we  made  pies,  and  the  baker  made  twenty  pounds  of 
bnocfie.  They  make  splendid  meals  here  at  we<ldings. 
Besides  giving  to  the  relations,  we  had  enough  food  left 
for  a  week.  We  had  a  cook,  and  I  heated  the  oven  to 
roast  the  things  while  the  others  were  at  the  mass."  "You 
did  not  see  the  marriage?"  "  No;  all  the  boys  went,  and 
somebody  had  to  stay  to  take  care  of  things;  that  troubled 
me  much." 


CENTRAL  FRANCE.  317 

I  might  have  said  to  Mrs.  L.,  "You  did  not  see  the 
marriage  in  church  ?"  for  it  will  be  remembered  that  the 
legal  one  is  that  at  the  mayor's  office. 

She  added  that  one  of  the  guests  carved  the  meats,  and 
there  were  three  women  in  the  kitchen  and  three  to  wait 
upon  the  table.  A  whole  cask  of  wine  was  drunk,  and 
there  were  also  Bordeaux  and  champagne,  but  not  much 
was  taken  of  them;  and  there  were  liquoi's.  It  is  not  so 
remarkable  that  so  much  was  drunk  when  we  hear  how 
long  the  wedding  lasted.  Not  only  did  the  guests  also 
remain  to  supper,  but,  after  dancing  a  great  part  of  the 
night,  they  found  rest  where  they  could,  and  remained  to 
breakfast  the  next  day.  No  one  went  to  bed  but  the 
serving- women  and  the  little  children.  Mrs  L.  herself  got 
about  two  hours'  sleep.  About  three  o'clock  in  the  morn- 
ing the  guests  sat  down  and  rested,  and  some  went  to  the 
barn  to  repose,  and  were  ready  to  begin  again  at  seven  in 
the  morning.  After  breakfast  all  left,  at  about  ten  o'clock. 
The  two  musicians  were  paid  by  the  young  men  invited. 
Mrs.  L.  added  that  there  are  people  who  do  not  make  wed- 
dings on  account  of  the  expense, — ^perhaps  only  one-fourth 
make  such  weddings. 

Knowing  the  great  preparations  that  are  made  for  funer- 
als among  the  "  Dutch"  where  I  live,  I  ask  Mrs.  L.  how 
such  occasions  are  observed  here.  She  says  that  the  bearers 
always  partake  of  a  meal,  and  the  relatives  from  a  distance, 
— about  fifteen  or  twenty  people  altogether, — but  no  great 
preparations  are  made.  The  bourgeois,  she  adds, — those  who 
live  upon  their  rentes, — pay  the  bearers.  She  says  that  the 
nobility  are  not  more  esteemed  than  the  bourgeois,  but  I 
tliink  that  she  speaks  of  a  certain  |)erson  who  has  made 
money  as  a  parvenu.  She  says  that  it  is  on  riches  and 
reputation  that  popular  esteem  is  founded;  adding,  "We 


318  FRENCH  AND  BELGIANS. 

don't  think  mucli  of  i)eople  who  are  rich  and  wlio  have  not 
much  reputation." 

I  ask  Pierre  to  repeat  to  me  an  anecdote  about  what  a 
certain  gentleman  had  said  when  the  marriage  contract  was 
being  made;  but  he  corrects  me:  I  should  have  said  the 
parlcment  when  the  parents  are  talking  about  the  marriage. 
Pierre  says,  "  There  must  be  no  discussions  when  they  go  to 
the  notary's  to  make  the  marriage"  (or  contract).  *'  It  was 
at  the  parlement  of  marriage  that  a  gentleman  said  he  gave 
fifty  thousand  francs  to  his  son  and  the  title  of  count,  and 
the  other  answered  that  he  gave  three  hundreil  thousand 
francs  to  his  daughter;  and  as  for  the  title  of  count  he 
held  it  nothing,  therefore  would  not  make  the  marriage." 

On  Sunday,  when  the  men  go  to  the  restaurants,  thoy  play 
cards  for  money.  After  mass  is  over  on  Sunday  the  country- 
women go  to  do  their  errands  at  the  grocer's  or  elsewhere, 
and  the  men  go  to  the  restaurant  to  drink  a  bottle  with  their 
friends;  then  they  go  home  to  dinner,  and  about  half  return 
in  the  afternoon.  "And  when  they  play  for  money  at 
restaurants,"  I  inquire,  "do  they  not  quarrel?"  "No," 
answers  Mrs.  L.,  "  not  more  than  once  in  two  or  three  years. 
They  may  dispute,  and  then  they  go  away  and  break  up  the 
game.     Comrades  never  strike  each  other." 

The  restaurant-keepers  take  newsj)apers,  but  farmers  gen- 
erally do  not.  Some  land-owners  do,  but  few  who  rent  land ; 
the  bourgeois  in  the  villages  do.  It  is  hard  to  translate 
bourgeois ;  I  think  that  sometimes  it  means  rich.  But  no 
matter  how  much  Mrs.  L.'s  family  own,  as  long  as  the  sons 
till  land  themselves  they  are  paysans.  Should  they  rent 
the  small  part  which  they  now  cultivate  and  move  into 
the  village,  they  would  l)ecome  bourgeois. 

In  French  cities,  all  persons  between  mechanics  and 
nobles  are  called  bourgeois. 


CENTRAL  FRANCE.  319 

On  this  my  last  day,  Mrs.  L.  is  kind  enough  to  tell  nie 
how  their  great  washings  are  done.  Every  week  a  bundle 
is  washed  of  common  things, — kitchen  aprons,  the  hoys* 
colored  shirts,  their  blouses,  etc.  But  every  six  months 
lye  is  made  and  a  great  washing  done, — she  says  nearly  as 
follows:  "I  put  a  pair  of  sheets  on  the  beds  once  a  month, 
and  my  sons  put  on  white  shirts  on  Sundays,  but  we  only 
wash  these  things  twice  a  year,  about  the  first  of  May  and 
the  last  of  October.  I  put  all  these  white  things  into  an 
enormous  tub  of  water,  a  tub  holding  about  a  hundred  gal- 
lons, and  I  allow  them  to  soak  the  first  day.  There  is  a 
hole  in  this  tub,  and  on  the  second  day  I  draw  off  a  little 
water  from  the  bottom,  and  on  top  of  the  tub  I  put  a  great 
sheet  to  hold  ashes.  Into  it  I  put  about  a  bushel  of  ashes, 
and  pour  boiling  water  upon  them  to  take  out  the  strength. 
Before  the  clothes  were  first  put  into  the  tub  the  men's 
shirts  were  soaped,  and  then  the  water  drawn  off  in  the 
morning  was  taken  to  pour  over  the  ashes,  and  all  day  long 
we  are  drawing  water  from  the  bottom  of  the  tub  and  heat- 
ing it— at  first  not  very  hot,  but  afterwards  boiling — and 
pouring  it  back  upon  the  linen  or  the  ashes,"  This  manner 
of  washing,  she  says,  saves  soap.  It  requires  a  good  supply 
of  clothing.  She  says  that  she  had  fifty  chemises  when 
she  was  married.  "  On  the  third  day,"  she  continues,  "the 
men  take  the  ashes  from  the  top  of  the  tub  and  empty  it 
upon  the  manure-heap,  and  three  extra  hired  women  come 
to  wash  the  clothes.  They  put  them  into  a  bag,  and  the  men 
take  them  to  the  piece  of  water  near  the  house,  and  there  the 
women  wash  all  day.  Washerwomen  receive  twenty-five 
sous  a  day  and  their  food."  Mrs.  L.  further  tells  me  that 
she  got  a  woman  to  iron  one  day  last  spring,  who  starchetl 
and  ironed  thirty-five  shirts,  and  she  paid  her  twenty-five 
sous  and  her  board ;  but  there  are  some  who  ask  forty. 


320  FRENCH  AND  BELGIANS. 

I  find  that  Pierre's  ideas  concerning  the  image  of  God 
do  not  agree  with  those  of  the  little  history  in  use  in  their 
comnuinal  scliool,  which  is  a  course  of  history,  containing 
sacred  history,  divided  into  eiglit  epochs,  the  Ijistory  of 
France,  and  some  ideas  about  ancient  and  mcxlern  nations, 
by  F.  P.  B.  Why  the  initials  only  I  cannot  tell.  The 
author  asks,  "  In  what  respect  is  man  made  in  the  image 
of  God  ?"  and  the  reply  says,  "  Not  with  relation  to  his 
body,  but  to  his  soul,  which  is  immortal  and  capable  of 
knowing  God." 

Here  are  another  question  and  answer,  which  I  commend 
to  observation:  "What  did  God  create  on  the  fifth  day? 
The  birds  and  the  fishes."  Then  this  remark  follows  in 
finer  print:  "It  does  not  seem  natural  to  us  that  God 
should  have  made  the  birds  come  out  of  the  water,  but  who 
can  explain  the  thoughts  of  the  Almighty  ?  Let  us  believe 
and  adore." 

AlK)ut  ninety  pages  of  this  little  volume  are  give  to 
sacred  history,  two  hundred  and  forty-six  to  France,  and 
fifty-five,  in  fine  print,  to  other  nations.  The  Egyptians, 
Scythians,  etc.,  are  mentioned,  but  our  own  continent  is 
not  described.  I  also  see  a  little  geography,  which  Henri 
tells  me  is  now  in  use,  by  the  same  F.  P.  B.  It  gives 
seventy-three  pages  to  France,  about  two  to  Great  Britain, 
over  nine  to  Italy,  and  one  to  the  United  Stntes.  There 
is  also  a  little  description  of  the  characters  of  different 
nations.  After  mentioning  the  people  of  Soudan,  the 
author  tells  us  that  the  aborigines  of  the  northern  coun- 
tries of  America  have  preserved  almost  all  the  usages 
which  they  had  before  the  invasion  of  Europeans;  the 
Iroquois,  the  Hurons,  the  Illinois,  the  Canadians,  etc., 
are  intrepid,  agile,  and  great  hunters;  they  worship  God 
under  the  name  of  the  "  Great  Spirit."     Then  he  speaks 


CENTRAL  FRANCE.  321 

of  the  Esquimaux.  The  next  mentioned  are  the  Mexi- 
cans, who  are  said  to  be  tawny,  handy,  laborious,  mild, 
loving  the  sciences,  and,  above  all,  the  arts.  Then  we 
come  to  the  Orinocos,  and  the  Chilians  are  mentioned; 
but  what  I  have  just  given  is  all  that  there  is  about  the 
people  of  the  United  States.  No  wonder  that  a  senator 
from  France  during  our  Exposition  wanted  to  see  some  of 
our  Indians!  Tiiis  little  book  was  approved  for  the  use 
of  primary  schools  in  1836 ;  and  "  primary"  means  such 
schools  as  that  of  which  Henri  passed  the  examination, 
corresponding  with  our  grammar  or  district  schools. 


The  want  of  wood  may  be  considered  one  of  the  weak 
points  of  beautiful  France.  The  granger,  or  farmer,  of 
Mrs.  L.  has  bought  a  bit  of  ground  upon  the  hill  with 
oak  saplings  on  it.  And  the  family  assign  him  ground 
upon  which  to  cut  genets,  or  broom, — a  plant  with  which 
he  can  heat  the  oven,  light  the  fire,  and  cook  potatoes' for 
the  hogs.     These  potatoes  are  boiled,  and  then  mashed. 


Saturday,  July  ISth. — This  morning  I  bid  Mrs.  Descha- 
vannes  and  her  family  farewell.  Toinette,  the  servant, 
takes  my  box  over  to  the  village,  and  when  we  part  at  the 
stage  puts  up  one  cheek  for  me  to  kiss,  and  then  the  other. 
So  I  am  a  little  troubled  at  my  manner  of  parting  with 
madame ;  I  took  both  her  hands,  but  ought  I  not  to  have 
offered  my  cheek  in  the  French  manner  ? 

I  have  just  called  Toinette  the  servant,  but  I  never 
heard  the  word  used  in  France,  that  I  remember.  Toi- 
nette called  herself  a  bonne,  or  good  girl,  which  expression 
may  be  said  to  l)elong  to  the  same  class  as  the  New  Eng- 


322  FRENCH  AND  BELGIANS. 

land  "  help."  A  word  much  used  in  France  is  domestic, 
and  ray  American  friend  speaks  of  her  woman's  husband 
as  being  a  valet  in  another  family. 


At  Romilies  I  breakfast  at  the  same  hotel  as  before, 
taking  the  mid-day  breakfast,  and  an  afternoon  train  for 
Paris,  where  I  arrive  at  about  four  in  the  morning.  On 
my  way  I  observe  that  all  the  hay  is  not  yet  in.  We  ride 
through  a  delightful  country,  so  that  I  again  recall  the 
line, — 

"  How  has  kind  Heaven  adorned  the  happy  land  I" 


iPj^Ti^rn  XXX. 

THE  I^OETH. 


CHAPTER   XXL 

Saturday,  July  27th. — It  was  not  a  part  of  my  original 
plan  to  visit  two  of  the  farming  districts  of  France,  but 
Mr.  Carpentier,  of  Paris,  to  whom  I  am  indebted  for  kind 
attentions  (I  would  like  to  give  his  true  name),  suggested 
my  also  visiting  the  north,  where  he  said  that  farming  is  dif- 
ferent, and  Victor  Leblanc  writes  to  an  old  friend  of  his, 
who  consents  to  take  me.  I  am  to  travel  by  rail  to  Cam- 
bray,  and  thence  by  private  conveyance.  I  am  to  pay 
fifty  francs  for  ten  days'  board,  and  a  certain  sum  for 
taking  me  from  the  station  at  Cambray  and  for  my  return 
hither.  Indeed,  I  have  already  paid,  for  the  whole  sum 
had  to  he  transmitted  in  advance. 

Victor  insisted  upon  my  leaving  on  an  early  train,  which 
proves  to  be  a  very  slow  one ;  and  there  are  several  changes 
of  cars.  Mine  is  a  third-class  car,  divided  into  five  com- 
partments, but  open  above,  so  that  we  can  see  all  the  peo- 
ple. Beside  me  sits  a  young  woman,  and  facing  us  two 
ecclesiastics,  old  and  young,  her  companions.  How  hand- 
somely the  robe  of  the  elder  is  made !  but  they  have  not 
shaved  this  morning.  The  clergy  are  somewhat  communi- 
cative in  talking  about  my  route,  and  then  take  out  their 
prayer-books.  Men  are  smoking  in  the  car, — what  an 
abomination ! — but  I  forgot  to  look  for  a  car  for  women  only. 

323 


324  FRENCH  AND  BELGIANS. 

A  man  rises, — a  man  witli  a  box, — and  begins  a  rapid 
discourse  upon  his  goods,  offering  for  one  franc  a  chain 
with  an  attachment,  a  set  of  shirt-stu<ls,  and  a  ticket  for 
a  dinner  in  Paris  (we  are  leaving  Paris!).  He  does  not 
apoh)gize  to  the  reverend  gentlemen  for  interrupting  them, 
and  they  continue  to  look  upon  their  books,  with  which 
they  must  be  familiar.  The  man  makes  sales,  and  offers 
more  gocKls.  Plainly,  all  the  money  has  not  been  S|>ent 
in  Paris.  After  selling  a  number  of  cheap  trifles  he  gets 
out,  which  is  wise.  I  leave  at  Creille,  and  by  that  car 
door  close  to  which  is  seated  the  younger  reverend.  The 
young  woman  opposite  tries  to  open  the  door  for  me,  but 
the  young  reverend  makes  no  such  effort.  As  the  door 
opens  I  hear  something  fall,  and  I  see  a  tin  cjui  like  a  tall 
milk-can  lying  uj)on  its  side  on  the  stone  pavement.  Some 
one  lifts  it :  clear  drops  are  falling  from  it;  the  lesser  clergy 
finds  a  tongue  :  "  It  is  ours." 

A  great  difficulty  which  they  have  in  leaving  the  Church 
is  the  question  of  subsistence.  Ten  years  in  the  seminaries, 
learning  what?  An  unfrocked  priest  might  find  it  diffi- 
cult to  obtain  a  place  as  teacher  or  book-keeper.  Victor 
told  me  how  his  mother  and  Mr.  CarjHjntier  induced  a 
priest  to  marry  a  woman  with  whom  he  had  been  long  in- 
timate. He  became  an  omnibus  conductor,  and  his  wife 
got  work  from  a  tailor;  but  he  would  stumble  in  going 
upon  the  top  of  the  omnibus,  and  would  make  mistakes  in 
change.  Afterwards  he  got  a  situation  in  an  omnibus 
office,  and  here  he  could  get  along  J[)etter,  as  he  could  say 
that  he  had  been  a  conductor,  instead  of  being  obliged  to 
Bay  tiiat  lie  had  been  a  cur6. 


In  the  next  car  into  which  I  enter,  in  my  unnecessarily 


THE  NORTH.  325 

prolonged  journey,  is  a  young  woman,  not  fair,  with  a  pur- 
ple necktie,  and  just  below,  very  conspicuous  in  tlie  bosom 
of  her  black  dress,  a  large,  stiflT,  red-and-white  carnation, 
and  what  looks  like  an  equally  large  orange  marigold, — 
leaves  not  being  considered  necessary.  She  gets  out  at  Coni- 
pidgne  to  get  "a  little  glass,"  but  does  not  find  a  restaurant. 
She  says  that  she  is  from  Paris.  She  wears  light  slippers, 
— apparently  of  blue-and-white  linen.  As  she  seems  to 
apologize  for  them,  I  suggest  that  her  feet  are  tired  with 
the  Exposition  ;  but  she  says  that  the  Exposition  did  not 
tempt  her.  She  went  to  see  that  of  the  free  workingmen. 
She  says  that  I  ought  to  have  seen  it.  The  price  of  ad- 
mission was  ten  cents  on  week-days  and  five  on  Sundays. 
Probably  it  was  here  that  my  democratic  dressmaker  ex- 
hibited something  of  w'hich  she  was  telling  us.  I  believe 
that  I  saw  the  building — quite  a  neat  one — near  the  Ex- 
position grounds. 

■t 
Lately,  at  Paris,  I  said  to  myself,  "  Pleasant  Paris !" 
but  the  country  is  very  pleasant  too.  I  see  quantities  of 
beets  growing.  At  Compidgne,  at  a  restaurant,  I  breakfast 
in  haste  on  plenty  of  strong  coffee,  plenty  of  hot  milk, 
enough  nice  sugar,  and  more  bread  than  I  can  eat,  for 
twelve  sous.  At  Tergnier  we  have  to  wait  three-quarters 
of  an  hour;  and  the  young  woman  with  the  carnation  tells 
me  that  her  slippers  cost  thirty-nine  sous.  They  are  nailed 
or  pegged, — not  sewed.  While  I  am  standing  here,  a 
woman  in  black  says  that  I  am  English.  1  laugh,  and 
say  that  I  am  not.  She  says  I  am  not  German,  and  in- 
sists that  I  am  English.  At  last  I  tell  her  that  I  am 
American.  From  Tergnier  to  Busigny  I  ride  in  a  car  of 
"  lathes  alone."  Two  women  have  books, — one  seems  to  be 
a  story-lH>ok.     The  other  woman  wears  a  cap  instead  of  a 


326  FRENCH  AND  BELGIANS. 

bonnet.  There  is  dignity  in  iier  coinitenance,  and  a  relig- 
ions expression.  Siie  is  not  reading,  however,  and  I  offer 
her  one  of  my  papers, — "  The  Little  French  Republic." 
She  shakes  her  head,  smiles,  and  holds  up  her  rosary.  After 
her  prayers  are  finished  she  is  very  social,  and  so  are 
others ;  and  we  have  a  lively  time  talking  about  the  Ex- 
position and  lx)arding-places.  We  change  again  at  Bu- 
signy,  and  I  hear  my  nice-looking  woman  with  the  cap 
say,  "My  sister,"  and  a  big  nun  gets  in,  in  a  common 
brown  dress  with  wide  sleeves,  a  white  sun-bonnet,  or  cap, 
with  a  black  shawl  over  it ;  over  her  forehead  a  white 
band,  and  on  her  breast  a  crucifix.  I  am  told  that  she  is 
a  Trappist  (they  collect  for  the  poor) ;  but  she  talks  more 
than  the  Trappist  monks  do,  and  my  nice-looking  woman 
talks  with  her.  At  the  station  at  Cam  bray  I  see  a  woman 
with  a  cap,  who  also  sees  me.  It  is  Madame  Salmier,  wife 
of  the  ex-teacher  with  whom  I  am  to  board.  She  has  ac- 
companied her  red-haired  son  to  meet  a  person  whom 
neither  of  them  has  seen  before.  As  we  enter  the  city  of 
Cambray,  we  are  stopped  by  an  officer  of  the  odroi,  who 
wants  to  know  whether  I  have  any  meat,  do.  I  begin  to 
answer  leisurely  that  I  have  no  meat,  when  Mrs.  Salmier 
cuts  the  matter  short  by  declaring  that  we  have  nothing. 
Cambray  has  about  twenty-three  thousand  inhabitants. 
Think  of  Lancaster,  in  my  own  State,  establishing  offices 
on  all  roads  entering  the  town,  and  ap|X)inting  officei*s  to 
make  the  country-people  pay  a  tax  before  they  can  sell 
their  proiluoe! 

Now  I  am  in  the  district  of  which  FCnelon  was  arch- 
bishop; and  while  madame  goes  to  do  some  errands  I 
enter  the  cathedral,  whicii  has  been  remodelled,  and  looks 
too  new  to  inspire  reverence;  but  the  vaulted  roof  I  sup- 
pose to  indicate  age.     There  is  a  handsome  seated  statue  of 


THE   ^ORTH.  327 

Louis  Belmas,  bishop  of  Cambray ;  but  what  do  I  care  for 
him?  Did  I  not  read  Fenelon's  "Telemaque"  when  a 
child  ?  Over  the  high  altar  hovers  a  majestic  marble  figure 
with  tlie  liands  spread  out,  and  the  legend  in  Latin,  "  This 
is  my  beloved  Son."  Does  it  mean  the  mass  upon  the  altar? 
I  see  a  nice  place,  carpeted,  with  music-stands  and  great 
books,  and  I  enter  the  railing  and  sit  down  upon  a  chair 
and  try  to  read  one  of  the  books.  A  man  who  has  been 
cleaning  comes  and  tells  me  that  it  is  prohibited.  I  go, 
but  ask,  "Why  prohibited?"  He  spreads  his  hands, 
shrugs  his  shoulders,  and  says,  "Only  priests  can  enter  the 
choir."  I  ask  a  ijentleman  who  comes  in  whether  there  is 
anything  here  about  Fenelon.  He  says,  very  pleasantly, 
"Behind  the  choir;"  and  there  is  a  handsome  tomb,  but 
modern, — of  about  1824.  Above  is  the  effigy  of  Fenelon, 
and,  below,  three  small  bas-reliefs.  One  represents  him 
instructing  the  young  prince;  another  shows  him  bringing 
back  the  peasant's  cow;  and  the  third  I  do  not  under- 
stand ;  but  the  gentleman  says  that  it  is  F6nelon  receiving 
in  his  palace  the  wounded  after  the  battle  of  Malplaquet. 
Why  should  F6nelon  be  put  behind  the  choir  and  Bishop 
Belmas  near  the  grand  entrance? 

When  we  get  into  the  wagon,  Mrs.  Salmier  asks,  "Amer- 
ica,— is  China  on  that  side?"  Her  husband  is  an  ex- 
teacher,  retired  on  his  j^nsion.  To  go  to  their  house  we 
leave  Cambray  and  ride  through  a  gate  in  the  great  wall, — 
a  gate  several  yards  through  and  over  a  little  drawbridge, — 
and  in  a  few  moments  we  come  to  another  wall  and  gate, 
and  another  drawbridge,  and  afterwards  to  a  third,  but  the 
fourth  is  partly  dismantled.  On  this  side  there  were  doubts 
less  four  distinct  lines  of  fortifications. 

On  the  road  we  pass  patches  of  cultivated  poppies  going 
to  see<l;  some  have  been  pulled ;  the  seeds  are  to  make  oil 


328  FRENCH  AND  BELGIANS. 

for  salad.  We  pass  a  mill  with  a  great  wooden  wheel.  It 
is  to  grind  colza,  flax,  and  poppy  seeds  for  oil.  Colza  oil 
is  used  for  machinery  and  leather,  but  they  prefer  to  burn 
j>etroleum,  which  is  cheaper.  We  stop  at  the  village  of 
Caulmain  to  call  upon  Mr.  Salmier's  sister.  The  villages 
have  a  very  poor  appearance,  on  account  of  there  being  no 
windows  towards  the  street,  or  but  few,  which  makes  the 
houses  look  like  stables.  Brick  is  almost  the  only  build- 
ing material  here.  I  find  Mr.  Salmier  to  be  a  worthy  man, — 
a  republican.  He  tells  me  that  under  Louis  Philipj)e  uni- 
vei^l  suffrage  did  not  exist:  it  was  established  in  1848. 
Under  Louis  Philippe  a  man  could  not  vote  for  municipal 
counsellors  (selectmen  of  the  town)  unless  he  paid  a  tax 
of  about  forty  francs,  nor  for  deputies  unless  he  paid  two 
hundred.  Now  every  one  is  an  elector,  whether  he  pays 
tax  or  not.  He  tells  me  that  the  best  tillable  lands  here 
are  worth  about  six  hundred  dollars  an  acre.  This  is  lime- 
stone land,  and  doubtless  of  very  fine  quality. 

In  this  part  of  France  I  see  signs  up  saying  that  men- 
dicity is  forbidden  in  the  commune,  but  I  find  that  it 
exists,  nevertheless. 

July  28th. — Mrs.  Saln)ier  is  surprisetl  to  hear  that  we 
have  cows  with  us.  "And  horses?"  she  asks.  They  have 
no  pasture-land  here.  Their  limestone  soil  is  all  under 
cultivation,  and  the  animals  never  go  out  to  graze.  Mrs. 
Salmier  asks  whether  I  will  have  milk  for  breakfast.  I 
tell  her  that  I  generally  drink  coffee  with  milk;  so  she 
makes  it  for  all  the  family,  and  we  sit  down  together, — Mr. 
and  Mrs.  Salmier,  the  two  sons  who  are  at  home,  the  young 
daughter,  and  myself.  They  keep  no  hired  people.  The 
men  do  not  wear  their  hats  nt  table.  At  breakfast  bread 
is    broken    up  in  the   coffee  of  each    pei*son   but   myself. 


THE   NORTH.  329 

There  is  a  i)iece  of  butter,  and  some  bits  of  nice  sugar 
upon  a  piece  of  paper  before  me.  I  do  not  see  the  others 
take  any  butter.  My  coffee  is  gootl,  with  plenty  of  g(M>d 
milk  in  it.  Mrs.  S.  also  offers  me  cheese,  and  gives  me 
currant  jelly,  but  the  family  confine  themselves  to  the 
bread  and  coffee.  Beer  is  the  usual  drink  here,  as  wine 
was  in  the  south ;  but  I  like  beer  so  little  as  a  supper 
drink  that  Mr.  Salmier  gave  me,  last  evening,  wine 
(which  he  has  in  the  cellar),  and  which  I  drank  with 
water. 

Mr.  Salmier  taught  the  village  school  forty  years,  and 
receives  a  pension  of  about  one  hundred  dollars.  To  have 
taught  thirty  years  entitles  a  man  to  this  pension.  He 
and  his  wife  were  both  born  in  this  village.  This  de- 
partment joins  Belgium,  and  Mr.  and  Mrs.  S.  have  both 
been  away  from  home  as  far  as  that  country.  He  never 
had  during  his  forty  years'  teaching  any  maps  to  hang 
around  his  school-room, — the  commune  did  not  furnish 
them.  He  made  a  black-board  himself;  and  when  the 
Prussian  soldiers  visited  them,  not  very  long  since,  it 
was  broken.  Mr.  Salmier  holds  the  office  of  greffier, 
or  mayor's  clerk,  in  this  commune  of  about  seven  hun- 
dred inhabitants.  He  has  held  the  office  over  forty  years, 
and  it  is  worth  two  hundred  francs  yearly.  They  also 
own  over  twelve  acres  of  land,  besides  the  lot  upon 
which  their  house  stands;  the  house,  like  almost  all  the 
rest  in  the  township  or  commune,  being  in  the  village ; 
this  is  called  an  agglomerate  population.  Mr.  Salmier 
seems  to  be  an  upright,  worthy  man,  and  kindly  answers 
my  many  inquiries.  Besides  his  dignity  of  clerk  and 
ex-teacher,  he  is  also  a  member  of  "  the  fabric  of  the 
church,"  or  is  a  vestryman.  He  did  not,  however,  receive 
this  appointment  through  the  cur6,  or  parish  priest,  but 


330  FRENCH  AND  BELGIANS. 

through  the  mayor,  who  never  goes  to  church,  except  at 
funerals  (and  the  vice-mayor  never  goes  at  all). 

When  Mrs.  Salmier  is  much  pressed  with  work  her 
husband  will  not  refuse  to  assist  her  by  washing  dishes,  he 
being  the  second  or  third  Frenchman  whom  I  have  seen 
perform  that  useful,  if  not  agreeable,  household  task.  Once 
when  he  sees  me  take  water,  he  says,  "You  drink  water?" 
I  laugh,  and  he  adds,  "I  never  drink  it:  I  could  not;  I 
l)elieve  I  should  die  first."  One  evening  he  expresses  the 
opinion  that  it  was  a  Frenchman  who  discovered  America. 

Mrs.  Salmier  tells  me  that  for  some  time  since  the  war 
they  have  not  made  money,  everything  being  so  augmented 
in  j)rice.  However,  they  have  lately  bought  another  house; 
and  I  tell  her  that  I  find  they  have  made  money.  She 
admits  it,  and  says,  "I  have  never  spent  improperly;  I 
have  always  been  industrious.  When  we  did  not  cultivate 
land,  I  sewed  for  other  people.  When  I  had  little  ones,  I 
held  them  on  my  lap  and  sewal,  and  that  is  the  reason  I 
have  made  money."  Although  by  industry  and  economy 
she  and  her  husband  seem  to  have  acquired  some  valuable 
property,  yet  it  grieves  her  to  think  how  little  there  will 
l>e  to  divide  among  their  six  children.  When  I  tell  her  of 
one  of  my  acquaintances  who  has  only  one  child,  I  under- 
stand her  to  say,  "  What  good  fortune!"  Her  own  family, 
brothers  and  sistere,  amounted  to  fourteen,  of  whom  eleven 
are  living;  seven  live  in  this  commune,  and  the  rest  at  no 
greater  distance  than  about  a  two  hours'  walk.*  She  asks  me 
whether  we  have  neighbors,  and  when  I  mention  Mexico  and 

*  By  tho  French  census  of  1872  it  was  found  that  out  of  every 
hundred  individuals  but  fifteen  had  quitted  their  native  commune  or 
township,  so  that  eighty-five  lived  where  they  were  born.  Almost 
tho  whole  of  the  existing  migration  is  that  from  the  rural  districts 
into  the  towns  of  France. — Statesman's  Year- Book,  1879. 


THE  NORTH.  331 

Ginada,  she  wants  to  know  whether  Peru  is  also.  Coming 
home  ouce  with  herself  and  two  other  old  ladies,  I  am  asked 
the  interesting  questions,  "Have  you  frogs  in  your  country? 
rats  and  mice?  Does  it  thunder  in  your  country?"  She 
inquires  whether  we  have  fleas  in  America;  for  they  are  to 
be  found  here  as  well  as  in  Paris  and  the  south.  She  does 
not  know  the  distance  to  the  Xorth  Sea,  nor  what  countries 
bound  France  on  the  east.  Soon  after  my  arrival  we  go 
into  the  stable  to  look  at  the  new  cow,  for  which  they  gave 
about  eighty  dollars  when  within  a  month  of  calving. 
"  Do  you  know,''  she  says,  "  how  to  tell  the  age  of  a  cow  ? 
There  is  a  ridge  in  her  horns  for  every  calf.  Since  I  have 
liad  animals  I  have  tried  to  learn  their  ways.  I  always 
feed  them  before  I  myself  eat,  and  always  at  a  set  time; 
for  if  you  do  not  give  them  food  when  they  are  hungry, 
they  will  not  get  fat.  Do  you  know  how  to  fatten  calves? 
AVhen  we  begin  we  give  them  milk;  you  understand  it 
takes  two  cows  that  give  milk."  "How  did  you  learn 
these  things?"  I  ask.  "By  talking  about  them  with 
others;  did  you  not  hear  me  yesterday?  If  a  stranger 
comes,  I  say,  ' Do  you  do  this?  do  you  do  that?'  and  so  I 
learn.  If  you  want  the  calf  to  grow  long  and  not  fatten 
too  fast,  you  must  give  the  morning's  milk  warmed,  having 
taken  off  a  little  cream ;  and  when  calves  are  four  or  five 
weeks  old,  give  them  the  new  milk  entire,  with  about  one 
litre  of  water  in  four  of  milk.  We  sell  them  at  from  six 
weeks  to  two  and  a  half  months.  One  I  sold  lately  was 
the  finest  in  the  market:  he  had  such  a  shining  skin  !  If 
the  calf  has  diarrhoea,  we  boil  rice;  and  if  the  calf  is 
young,  we  give  it  the  water,  and  if  older  we  can  give  the 
rice  too.  Then  when  that  is  corrected  you  can  give  it 
well-boiled  potatoes,  well  mashed,  if  you  want  to  save  a 
little  cream  to  make  butter.     At  the  end,  to  fatten  the  calf 


332  FRENCH  AND  BELGIANS. 

it  takes  the  milk  of  two  cows;  but  then  tlie  calf  is  strong, 
you  know, — lie  is  strong.  The  calf  I  sold  was  nine  weeks 
old,  and  I  sold  him  to  a  butcher  at  Cambray,  who  gets  all 
the  medals;  he  sells  the  l)est  meat  at  Cambray  ;  all  those 
medais  are  hanging  in  his  butchery.  He  buys  the  best 
meat;  lie  gave  me  one  hundred  and  thirty-five  francs." 
"That  was  a  great  price,"  I  reply.  "My  brother-in-law, 
at  whose  house  you  were,  sold  a  cidf  at  nine  weeks  (it  was 
stronger  in  coming  into  the  work!  than  mine)  at  one  hun- 
dred and  ninety  francs."  "  That  was  as  much  as  we  sell 
a  cow  for."  "And  he  who  bought  it  sold  it  at  St.  Quentin, 
and  gained  money,  so  fine  a  calf  he  was !  Ah,  how  dear 
things  are  sold  in  France  !  What  beautiful  veal  he  must 
have  made!  so  fat!  And  there  are  some  who  even  give 
eggs  in  the  milk.     That  is  good,  that." 

I  speak  to  her  about  poultry  and  our  feeding  cracked 
Indian  corn,  but  I  camiot  now  recall  what  cause<l  her  to 
say,  "Oh,  madame,  those  poor  little  beasts, — ^)'ou  give  them 
too  much.  They  cannot  support  so  much.  I  had  twenty- 
two  little  ones,  and  I  have  oidy  lost  one."  Here  she  lowers 
her  voice:  "I  have  a  neighbor  who  makes  the  wedding; 
she  drinks  brandy,  she  vomit**;  I  think  if  she  could  get 
hold  of  a  chicken  she  woidd  eat  it."  (To  make  the  wed- 
ding is  to  spend  the  day  driidving.)  "And  you  never  har- 
vest poppies  with  you?"  she  adds.  "  For  your  little  chick- 
ens that  would  be  so  good  !  First  I  give  my  little  chickens 
crumbs  of  bread, — the  same  that  we  eat, — wet  with  gooil 
milk  or  beer."  "Don't  you  take  the  cream  off  of  the 
milk?"  I  ask.  "  No;  that  would  give  them  diarrhoea.  If 
you  want  them  to  have  good  stomachs,  give  them  eggs 
boiled  hard.  When  they  are  three  or  four  weeks  old  you 
mtjy  give  tliem  wheat,  but  not  younger."  "  Not  oats  nor 
barley?"     " Oh,  they  could  not  digest  it;  but  when  they 


THE  NORTH.  333 

are  half-grown  you  may  give  them  oats  or  barley.  Once, 
when  mine  were  about  fifteen  days  old,  I  gave  them  new 
rye,  and  they  died ;  and  then  I  said,  But  how  does  this 
happen  ?  Madame  Jardet,  the  mayor's  wife,  said  it  was 
because  of  the  rye ;  that  that  formed  a  paste  on  the  stomach. 
You  must  cook  their  meal  when  they  are  young.  I  had 
two  hens  to  hatch  this  year,  and  I  had  twenty-one  chickens. 
I  did  not  lose  one."  "  But  you  did  lose  one,  as  you  said." 
"  It  did  not  die;  they  are  too  well  cared  for.  Sometimes 
I  have  given  them  wine,  knowing  that  wine  is  good.  I 
have  nineteen  hens,  and  I  get  ten  or  twelve  eggs  a  day;  and 
it  is  not  now  the  best  moment  to  lay,  you  know."  "And 
how  much  do  you  have  to  feed  them?"  I  ask.  "  When  they 
are  little  they  are  always  eating,  always, — between  the 
bread  poppy-seeds,  and  the  seeds  are  fat,  you  know,  that 
makes  them  digest.  How  content  they  are !  they  go  '  Tickety, 
tickety,  tickety  !'  "  "  But  the  old  ones  ?"  I  ask.  "  We  had 
to  sell  our  wheat  on  account  of  the  rats;  we  always  kept 
wheat  until  after  harvest,  so  as  not  to  have  to  eat  new.  But 
it  is  very  disgusting  to  have  rats  in  the  wheat ;  and  some 
one  said  to  me,  '  That  costs  you  two  sous  a  day,  every  rat.' 
Now  I  give  my  hens  winter  barley."  "And  you  have  only 
one  cock  ?"  "  Only  one ;  and  the  eggs  never  fail :  there 
are  chickens  in  all."  "But  don't  you  change  your  stock? 
Don't  you  get  a  new  cock  sometimes  ?"  "  I  have  had  the 
same  stock — our  French  hens — for  three  years.  Cochin 
China  don't  lay  enough  eggs,  and  the  chickens  are  always 
naked."  Her  fowls  resemble  our  common-sized,  plain-col- 
ored poultry.  She  tells  me  about  her  eldest  son, — how  he 
thought  she  was  too  careful,  and  dressed  like  a  beggar. 
"And  do  you  know  what  he  did  ?"  she  adds.  "  I  only  gave 
him  three  thousand  francs,  and  he  married  a  young  woman 
who  had  twenty  thousand  francs  the  day  that  she  was  mar- 
is* 


334  FRENCH  AND  BELGIANS. 

ricd ;  not  in  money,  but  in  land,"  "  But  how  did  tliat 
lia{)i)en  in  France?"  I  inquire.  "She  had  no  father  nor 
mother,  and  she  wanted  to  marry  him.  He  was  not  like 
some  otiiers,  going  to  fttes,  dancing  here,  dancing  there. 
He  is  now  the  clerk  of  the  church  where  he  lives, — an  hour 
and  a  half's  walk  from  here."  Afterwards  she  tells  me 
that  this  son  has  a  tenor  voi(«;  and  the  cur6  who  was  here 
then,  taught  him  to  play  on  the  harmonium.  A  neighbor- 
ing cur6  employs  him  as  clerk, — his  salary  being  three 
hundred  francs, — and  he  must  sing  at  all  the  masses,  which, 
on  week-days,  are  before  eight  in  the  morning. 

One  of  the  six  children  is  at  a  greater  distance  from 
home,  for  he  is  a  soldier  in  camp  at  or  near  Besanyon.  He 
is  a  soldier  for  five  years.  There  are  two  boys  at  home  at 
work  on  their  land, — that  which  they  own  and  that  which 
they  rent.  When  I  tell  them  about  my  country,  one  of 
them  thinks  that  it  might  be  well  to  go  there,  as  then  they 
would  not  have  to  be  soldiers.  It  is  quite  surprising  to 
the  people  here  that  we  should  hire  our  soldiers  and  pay 
them  so  much.  They  always  have  the  conscription,  and 
the  common  soldier  receives  one  sou  a  day,  besides  his 
clothing  and  rations. 

One  other  son,  who  is  about  nineteen,  has  a  situation  in 
a  bank  in  a  neighboring  town,  where  he  has  been  eighteen 
months.  At  first  he  got  four  dollai*s  a  month,  and  now 
eight.  He  goes  to  the  bank  at  eight  o'clock,  and  stays 
until  seven,  being  allowed  two  hours  at  noon.  He  must 
work  until  noon  on  Sunday. 

The  youngest  child  is  Marie,  the  only  daughter.  She  is 
a  delicate-looking  child.  The  three  at  home  have  light 
hair,  which  was  very  uncommon  at  Boissiftrcs.  (It  may  be 
observed  that  Mrs.  Salmier  spoke  thus  of  her  married  son  : 
**I  only  gave  him  three  thousand  francs;"  but  I  do  not 


THE   NORTH.  335 

infer  that  the  money  was  hers.  Afterwards,  when  the 
notary's  young  man  comes  and  receives  money  from  them, 
it  is  she  who  produces  the  bag.) 


When  we  arrived  here  we  drove  up  to  a  high  brick  wall, 
with  few,  if  any,  windows,  but  with  great  double  wooden 
doors,  large  enough  for  wagon  and  horses.  We  generally, 
however,  open  a  little  door  cut  in  one  of  the  big  ones,  and 
behold  we  are  in  a  barn-yard,  with  a  bed  of  manure  near 
the  centre.  On  the  left  hand,  but  not  very  near  the  en- 
trance, stands  a  solid  brick  house,  long,  and  facing  the  barn- 
yard,— if  I  must  so  call  it,  when  there  are  some  trees.  The 
house  is  only  one  story  high,  and  has  two  front  doors  and 
six  front  windows.  The  walls  of  the  house  are  of  the  thick- 
ness of  two  bricks  placed  lengthwise.  Mr.  Salmier  and 
I  measure  them,  and  we  find  them  to  be,  with  the  mortar, 
over  half  a  yard  thick.  The  windows  are  set  in  the  wall,  so 
that  there  is  a  wide  window-seat  outside  and  a  narrower 
one  within.  Like  all  the  windows  that  I  have  observed  in 
France,  they  open  in  the  centre  like  a  double  door.  Rooms 
seem  to  be  well  aired  by  such  windows,  but  must  they  not 
be  more  inconvenient  for  winter?  All  our  roofs  are  of  tiles, 
but  our  next  neighbor  has  an  excellent  slate  one.  Her  house 
is  a  nice  new  brick  one, — ^a  long  house,  one  end  of  it  being 
the  stable. 

Opening  upon  our  yard  is  another  brick  building,  that 
was  once  Mr.  Salmier's  school-house,  and  still  has  the  bell- 
frame  on  top.  It  is  now  the  stable,  where  two  good  horses, 
two  cows,  and  a  heifer  are  kept,  and  whence  the  horned 
cattle  very  rarely  come  out.  An  adjoining  room,  which 
also  belongs  to  the  former  school-house,  is  the  sleeping- 
room  of  one  of  the  sons,  who  can  thus  guard  the  animals  at 


336  FREiVCIl  AND  JiELOIAyS. 

night.  Upon  the  same  yard,  also,  opens  the  brick  barn. 
A  very  little  brick  bnilding  standing  out  from  the  barn  is 
the  dwelling  of  our  porker, — poor  animal! — with  no  light 
but  what  enters  around  the  door.  He  is  not  actually  poor, 
but  a  very  respectable  swine;  he  is  pink,  and  remarkably 
clean,  his  house  being  generally  cleaned  twice  a  week.  On 
the  same  side  as  oiu*  dwelling  there  is  a  little  brick  stable, 
where  the  calf  is  kept,  and  which  seems  always  to  have 
clean  straw  in  the  bottom,  and  over  this  stable  is  a  dove- 
cote. There  is,  too,  a  little  hen-house,  with  short,  broad 
ladder  or  rack  for  the  fowls  to  roost  on.  All  is  of  brick 
here,  as  at  Boissi^res  of  stone.  The  north  side  of  our  yard 
is  formed  by  tlie  garden-wall, of  brick  and  stone;  grass  has 
been  growing  on  top,  and  the  dry  stalks  wave  in  the  air. 
About  midway  there  is  a  wooden  gate,  by  which  we  enter 
the  garden.  Within  our  barn-yard  or  house-yard  is  a  pool 
of  water  for  the  animals;  it  is  rain-water,  which  runs  down 
here  from  the  street,  and  is  kept  in  some  manner  to  me  very 
mysterious.  Such  watering-places  seem  common  here, — the 
bottom  must  be  cemented.  A  few  stone  steps  go  down  to 
the  water,  and  on  the  east  it  is  shaded  by  a  beautiful  ash 
and  other  trees.  There  is  a  minute  orchard,  too,  in  our 
yard,  occupying,  as  I  estimate,  about  sixteen  square  feet,  and 
containing  some  dwarf  pear-trees,  a  little  cherry-tree,  and 
two  plums.  To  the  garden- wall  and  east  wall  pear-trees 
are  nailed,  and  on  the  house  front  are  two  apricots,  but  al- 
together there  is  not  a  great  deal  of  fruit.  The  two  strangest 
things  in  this  yard,  unless  it  be  the  water-jwol,  are  two 
troughs  dug  in  the  ground, — one  of  them  about  two  yards 
long  and  one  and  a  half  wide,  and  nearly  a  yard  deep. 
These  holes  are  for  pulp;  guess  what  that  means.  Just  out- 
side the  village  there  is  a  raperie,  or  place  where  our  beets 
are  pressed.     We  sell  them  tiiere  to  a  company  that  has 


TJIE   NORTH.  337 

obtained  tlie  riglit  to  manufacture  sugar.  Here  in  a  neat 
new  house  lives  the  ba^culeuPy  who  weighs  the  beets.  When 
we  take  our  beets  to  be  weiglied,  we  can  buy  the  pulp  left 
in  pressing,  at  ten  francs  the  thousand  kilos,  or  at  about 
two  dollars  for  two  thousand  two  hundred  pounds,  and  we 
bought  one  hundred  francs'  worth  and  put  it  into  these  hole's 
to  keep  and  to  feeil.  "I  would  like  to  have  more  still," 
says  Mi*s.  Salmier,  "because  then  the  butter  would  not  be 
soft  in  the  summer, — the  butter  of  the  beet  is  hard."  About 
half  the  cultivators  here  signed  the  compromise  with  the 
company,  which  entitles  them  to  the  privilege  of  buying 
one-fifth  of  the  weight  of  the  beets  in  pulp.  They  signed 
to  induce  the  company  to  put  up  the  works,  and  when  the 
raperie  was  built  the  rest  came  in  and  signed.  After  the 
beets  are  pressetl  at  the  raperie,  the  juice  is  conducted  under- 
ground in  a  pipe.  Ours  is  not  the  only  raperie, — there  is 
another  about  three  or  four  miles  from  here,  where  the  pipe 
begins;  thence  the  juice  flows  here,  and,  increased  by  ours, 
goes  on  about  three  miles  farther,  where  there  is  another 
raperie;  thence  the  juice  of  the  three  goes  on  to  the  mother 
or  central  house  of  this  region,  where  there  is  a  sugar-house 
for  making  cassonade,  or  brown  sugar,  and  perhaps  a  re- 
finery, too,  though  not  a  complete  one,  I  am  told.  Every 
day  during  the  season  the  basculeurat  our  village  telegraphs 
to  the  chief  house  what  weight  of  beets  he  has  received ;  and 
the  agent  at  the  sugar- works  writes  us  a  letter  letting  us 
know  to  what  we  are  entitled,  and  we  can  go  to  that  place 
and  get  our  money. 

But  we  have  left  Mr.  Salmier's  house  to  follow  the  beet- 
juice  in  its  underground  travels;  let  us  return.  I  was  in- 
terested in  the  cellar,  which  had  not  upright  walls  like  ours, 
with  the  beams  and  floors  showing  above,  but  was  entirely 
(!Overed  with  an  arch  of  brick.     I  am  allowed,  too,  to  visit 


338  FRENCH  AND  BELGIANS. 

the  grenier,  or  garret.  The  wheat  has  been  sold,  but  there  is 
a  nice  heap  of  rye;  we  feed  rye  to  the  hog.  And  here  niadame 
has  some  clothes  hanging  to  dry.  I  see,  too,  a  bust  in  ])las- 
ter  of  some  one  who  has  a  laurel  wreath  around  his  head ; 
she  tells  rae  that  it  is  Louis  Napoleon.  It  was  at  the 
mayor's  office, — probably  the  mayor's  father  bought  it, — and 
when  the  republic  came  they  said  it  should  he  put  into  the 
garret,  and  they  broke  the  nose.  Thus  passes  the  glory  of 
this  world! 

With  us  in  Southern  Pennsylvania,  even  if  our  houses 
are  at  some  distance  from  the  barn-yard,  we  are  tormented 
with  flies  in  the  summer;  but  here  there  are  almost  no  flies 
in  the  house,  although  it  is  July  and  August.  Even  bacon 
hangs  in  the  open  room  without  a  covering  to  protect  it 
from  insects. 

I  have  mentioned  the  garden-wall.  On  the  other  three 
sides  the  garden  is  surrounded  by  a  high  hedge  of  elder, 
which  is  cut  once  in  three  years  for  pea-brush.  Cabbages, 
onions,  leeks,  and  garlic  are  growing  within  (remember  our 
high  northern  latitude,  Paris  being  north  of  Quebec).  There 
are,  too,  chicory, — used  here  to  help  out  coffee, — and  oseilley 
or  the  sorrel  which  I  ate  at  Paris,  broad-leaved  like  spinach. 
There  is  a  plant  Ciilled  cassis,  with  fruit  like  large  black 
currants,  some  strawl)erries  of  the  four  seasons  (small),  and 
a  few  raspberries;  |)eas  with  very  high  brush,  and  scarlet 
and  white  runners;  there  is  a  quantity  of  beet-seed,  but  we 
do  not  eat  l)eets  on  the  table;  there  are  potatoes,  carrots, 
etc.,  and  delicious  crimson  clove-pinks. 


THE  NORTH.  339 


CHAPTER    XXII. 

I  HAVE  mentioned  that  in  our  way  hither  we  stopped 
at  tlie  house  of  Mrs.  Sulmier's  sister-in-law,  which  is  in  the 
next  commune  to  ours, — I  call  it  Caulmain.  Mrs.  Gouchon, 
the  sister-in-law,  invited  me  to  come  the  next  day, — Sunday, 
— it  being  one  of  their  fete-days.  I  did  not  understand  her 
to  invite  me  to  dinner,  and,  as  I  had  writing  to  do,  I  did 
not  get  off  until  late;  Marie,  the  young  daughter,  accora- 
})anying  me.  We  find  the  company  still  at  the  table,  and 
Marie  and  I  sit  down,  and  food  is  brought  to  us.  Mr. 
Salmier  is  there,  our  hostess  being  his  sister,  and  the  peo- 
ple are  very  much  interested  in  talking  with  me  about  my 
country.  Before  we  leave,  Mr.  Gouchon  very  kindly  in- 
vites me  to  come  the  next  day,  which  is  the  second  day  of 
the  festival.  This  is  not  named  for  any  saint,  but  is  the 
f(&te  of  cherries.  However,  I  see  none.  There  is  a  more 
important  festival  in  the  fall.  On  our  way  back  we  stop 
in  this  village  to  see  the  ball-room,  which  is  lighted  up. 

The  dancing  is  not  to  begin  this — Sunday — evening  until 
nine.  Mr.  Salmier  tells  me  that  it  is  the  influence  of  the 
cur6s,  or  parish  priests,  which  prevents  its  beginning  earlier, 
and  I  have  imagined  that  the  nearness  of  England  has  some- 
thing to  (Jo  with  it.  They  dance  the  schottisch,  polka, 
varsovienne,  and  mazurka,  and  what  they  call  the  jump- 
ing >valtz.  Old  dances  were  the  pastourelle  and  chassez 
four. 

On  Monday  it  is  Mrs.  Salmier  who  accompanies  me  to 
Mr.  Jfapolpon  Gouchon's  to  dine,  and  we  arrive  there  be- 


340  FRENCH  AND  BELGIANS. 

tween  one  and  two.  A  beautiful  load  of  flax  is  standing 
before  tiie  door,  and  I  speak  of  it  to  our  host,  who  tells  me 
that  a  good  harvest  of  flax  is  worth  ninety-two  dollars  [)er 
acre  (computing  five  francs  as  a  dollar).  He  gives  me  tiie  ex- 
j>ense  of  ploughing  and  cultivating,  of  manure,  of  seed,  and 
of  weeding,  and  the  whole  amounts  to  thirty-eight  dollars, 
leaving  fifty-four  dollars  clear  profit.  When,  however,  we 
learn  that  the  best  lands  here  are  worth  six  hundred  dol- 
lars per  acre,  and  when  we  hear  the  great  expense  of  renting 
land,  our  enthusiasm  over  the  value  of  the  crop  will  c<x)l. 

The  family  at  Mr.  Gouchon's  consists  first  of  my  friend 
Napoleon  and  his  wife.  There  are  also  two  sons, — intelli- 
gent men,  the  older  l)eing  married,  and  having  children; 
his  wife  seems  to  be  the  housekeeper,  or  to  do  the  principal 
part  of  the  housework.  At  dinner  we  have  first  a  good 
bouillon,  or  soup,  with  bread  in,  afterwards  slices  of  cold, 
roast  beef  with  a  dressing  of  herbs,  containing  probably 
garlic  and  poppy-seed  oil,  then  veal  with  a  plentiful  sui)ply 
of  green  jieas.  As  this  is  the  second  day  of  the  festival,  we 
have  cold  roast  turkey,  with  salad,  and  then  the  cold  ham  of 
yesterday.  This  turkey,  which  is  not  large,  is  quite  a  re- 
markable object  in  the  eyes  of  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Salmier.  We 
have  also  wine  and  beer,  black  coffee  with  the  little  glsiss 
of  spirits,  and  sweet  cakes  and  a  little  rock-candy.  We 
are  at  the  table  about  three  hours.  Among  the  guests  is  a 
stout  man  in  a  blue  linen  blouse,  whom  I  call  Deraismes. 
When  he  sees  me  put  water  into  wine,  he  remarks  that  I 
am  going  to  do  penance.  There  is  no  water  upon  the  Uible 
until  I  call  for  it,  and  disturb  our  young  hostess  to  go  and 
bring  it.  Their  beer  is  not  near  so  strong  as  lager;  but 
they  say  that  it  will  intoxicate.  I  afterwards  hear  of  a 
car|)enter  who  was  gourmand,  and  who  drank  in  half  an 
hour  about  six  quarts.     At  this  dinner  we  have  napkins, 


THE   NORTH.  341 

and  spoons  and  forks  resembling  pewter.  Again  I  am 
asked  much  about  my  country;  indeed,  I  seem  quite  a 
lion.  Mr.  Napoleon  Gouchon — the  old  gentleman — and  his 
friend  Deraismes  are  Bonapartists  ;  one  of  the  young  men 
says  because  they  are  rich,  but  that  is  ironical.  Mr.  Deraismes 
is  sixty-eight,  and  remembers  the  burning  of  jyioscow.  He 
had  ])icked  up  a  few  English  words,  when  the  English 
occupied  this  country  for  three  years  after  the  battle  of 
Waterloo  until  the  indemnity  was  paid  them ;  but  Mr. 
Deraismes's  English  is  hard  to  understand.  The  two 
young  Gouchons  also  wear  blue  linen  blouses, — they  are  at 
home.  They  are  intelligent ;  they  and  two  youths  who 
come  in  are  republicans.  They  sj)eak  of  the  different 
parties, — of  the  Orleanists  and  the  Henri  Quinquists.  I 
ask  how  many  Bourbonites  there  are.  They  do  not  readily 
understand  me,  for  it  seems  that  they  generally  calh  them 
Henri  Quinquists,  from  the  Bourbon  heir  to  the  throne. 
As  soon  as  they  do  understand,  the  eldest  son  says  that  it 
is  only  the  cur6s  who  support  Henry  V.,  adding  after- 
wards, "  Some  great  lords."  In  order  to  be  fully  correct,  I 
turn  to  the  father,  Mr.  Napoleon,  the  Bonapartist,  and  he 
replies  that  the  greater  part  of  the  cures  support  Henry  V. 
My  neighbor  at  table,  Mr.  Deraismes,  wishes  to  know 
whether  Pekin  is  the  capital  of  America;  but  one  of  the 
young  men  knows  better.  It  is  Voz-ann-ton,  or  perhaps 
Nev-Yoi'.  When  I  remark  that  I  can  say  in  my  country 
that  all  the  young  men  I  have  seen  are  republicans,  and, 
turning  to  my  Napoleon  and  his  friend,  venture  the  remark 
that  it  is  only  the  old  gentlemen  who  are  aristocrats,  the 
bright  yoimger  son  says,  "  They  are  old  crusts,"  and  De- 
raismes retaliates,  "They  are  young  rats." 

This  house  where  we  dine  is  in  the  next  commune  to 
ours, — the  commune  containing  six  hundred  and  seventy- 


342  FRENCH  AND  BELGIANS. 

two  people,  and  having  eleven  estaminets,  or  places  where 
drink  is  sold.  On  entering  this  commune,  we  see  upon  the 
roadside  a  large  crucifix,  at  the  top  of  a  fine  wide  flight  of 
steps.  The  figure  on  the  cross  is  of  life-size  and  life-like, 
and  the  crucifix  is  handsomely  shaded  with  trees.  It  is 
called  a  cal  vasv, — calvaire.  Our  host,  Mr.  Gouchon,  has  told 
me  that  it  was  put  up  by  a  private  person ;  that  the  cal- 
varies of  the  different  townships  are  not  established  by  the 
communes  themselves.  Some  jierson  was  sick,  and  he 
j)romiscd  if  he  got  well  to  establish  a  Ciilvary;  and  he  left 
about  five  acres  of  ground,  from  the  proceeds  of  which  the 
calvary  is  to  be  maintained  to  eternity ! 


My  host  and  his  relatives  are  plain  people,  who  work 
with  their  own  hands.  I  do  not  have  much  opportunity 
to  make  the  acquaintance  of  the  great  folks  of  the  village. 
There  are  five  houses  in  ours  that  have  an  Bage,  or  a  second 
story.  The  great  majority  are  of  one  story;  and  at  Mr. 
Salmier's,  as  at  Boissi5res,  the  grain  is  kept  in  the  garret. 
The  day  after  my  arrival  the  mayor  is  in  at  Mr.  Salmier's; 
which  is  not  surprising,  as  Mr.  S.  is  town  clerk.  The 
mayor  is  not  paid  ;  he  has  the  honor  of  being  at  the  hejid 
of  the  seven  hundred  and  twenty-five  persons  in  this  com- 
mune; and  can  sympathize  with  Julius  Cjcsar  in  preferring 
to  be  first  in  a  certain  village  to  being  second  in  Rome.  I 
tell  Mr.  Salmier  that  we  have  no  mayors  in  our  townships, 
and  he  asks  me  who  registers  births.  And  when  I  say  that 
I  do  not  think  they  are  registered,  he  wants  to  know  how 
we  prevent  infanticide. 

The  mayor — Mr.  Cireau,as  I  call  him — is  big  and  burly, 
neatly  dressed  in  his  Sunday  clothes, — a  white  linen  waist- 
coat and  light  coat  and  pantaloons.     (I  have  said  that  the 


THE  NORTH.  343 

mayor  never  goes  to  church,  except  to  funerals.)  I  learn 
that  he  has  been  to  Paris, — to  the  Exposition ;  and  well 
he  may  go,  for  he  rents  out  one  hundred  acres  of  land,  re- 
ceiving about  eighteen  dollars  an  acre,  renting  his  lands 
for  eighteen  years  together,  and  the  renter  must  pay  the 
taxes.  Mr.  Cireau  tells  me  that  all  the  woods  here  are 
planted,  and  that  the  proprietor  himself  cannot  cut  them 
down  without  government  permission.  He  can  trim  them 
or  lop  off  the  branches,  but  not  root  them  out,  the  mayor 
says.  I  tell  him  that  we  cut  down  trees  and  then  cultivate 
the  ground;  and  here  we  come  to  a  difficulty.  He  is  sure 
that  we  cannot  cultivate  the  ground  without  rooting  out 
the  trees.  I  tell  him  that  if  he  will  come  to  America  he 
will  see.  Of  course  we  do  not  cultivate  the  ground  as  it  is 
cultivated  here.  There  is  something  a  little  lonesome  in 
this  long  stretch  of  land,  with  few  trees,  no  fences  nor 
dividing  lines,  and  the  corner-stones  that  serve  to  mark 
out  properties  so  low  as  not  to  be  visible  when  the  grain  is 
growing.  Were  not  the  ground  handsomely  undulating, 
it  would  be  like  a  prairie.* 

On  Monday  the  mayor  is  in  again  in  his  blue  blouse, 
and  I  inquire  whether  a  stranger  coming  into  the  village 
can  apply  to  the  mayor  for  information  as  to  where  he  can 
lodge.  It  seems  that  these  estamineis,  or  restaurants,  are 
not  obliged  to  lodge  people,  nor  even  to  feed  them,  and 


*  There  are  still  native  forests  in  France,  principally  in  mountain- 
ous regions.  About  eighteen  per  cent,  of  the  soil  is  in  wood.  A  lady 
born  in  the  department  of  Doubs,  on  the  Swiss  border,  tells  me  that 
there  are  many  forests  there;  but  they  belong  to  the  communes,  and 
not  to  individuals.  The  department  oi  Le  Nord,  of  which  I  sp<>ak  in 
the  text,  is  highly  cultivated  and  populous.  By  census  in  1876  it 
had  fully  692  inhabitants  to  the  square  mile,  whereas  Pennsylvania, 
in  1870,  had  about  76. 


344  FRENCH  AND  BELGIANS. 

that  there  are  no  taverns  in  tliese  villages.  The  mayor 
informs  nie  that  a  stranger  can  ask  the  first  person  he  meets 
where  lodging  am  be  ol)taine<l;  "a  bad  bed,"  he  adds. 
There  are  not  many  towns  of  seven  hundred  people  in  our 
country  without  a  public-house,  but  then  we  move  about 
more. 

Again  I  see  Mr.  Cireau,  the  mayor,  without  immediately 
knowing  him.  I  am  looking  intently  at  the  great  water- 
ing-place in  the  village, — at  a  man  who  is  dipping  out 
water,  and  at  his  fine  horse;  and  I  also  see  a  man  at  a 
little  distance  in  a  blue  blouse,  of  whom  I  afterwards  hear 
that  it  was  the  mayor;  probably  he  does  not  understand  all 
my  movements.  This  watering-place  is  no  curiosity  to 
them.  It  is  doubtless  old,  and  they  have  known  it  all 
their  lives.  The  little  brick  chapel  with  a  brick/roof,  close 
by  it,  bears  date  1696. 

One  day  when  ISIrs.  Salmier  and  I  are  out,  we  aill  at 
the  mayor's,  but  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Cireau  are  not  at  home. 
The  servant  gives  us  beer,  and  allows  us  to  walk  in  the 
gjirden, — which  has  not  an  envious  high  wall  and  close  gate, 
excluding  all  view  from  the  road,  like  one  we  visited  in  the 
next  village. 

Speaking  of  pei*sons  of  importance,  we  will  next  take  the 
notary,  who  has  a  more  elegant  place, — perhaps  the  hand- 
somest in  the  village.  Mrs.  Salmier  calls  his  lu)use  a  chd- 
teau.  He  has  only  been  here  about  two  yeai*s,  and  I  do 
not  find  that  he  has  become  a  favorite.  Returning  one  day 
from  the  fields,  on  that  side  where  the  great  chestnut-tree 
serves  for  a  land-mark,  I  ct)n>e  first  to  the  high  brick  wall 
which  snrroiinds  the  grandeur  of  Mr.  Notary.  In  one  part 
the  wall  is  lower,  so  that  we  can  see  the  white  building 
within,  which  seems  to  be  an  addition  to  another  building; 
and  there  is  another  high  buihling,  which  is  the  gardener's 


THE   NORTH.  345 

house.  What  splendid  walnut-trees  there  are  in  the  enclo- 
sure!  Farther  round,  a  great  gateway,  with  stone  pillars, 
stands  open,  showing  an  avenue  of  trees.  When  I  saw  this 
house  from  the  field,  its  large  enclosure  and  high  wall,  I 
thought  of  Mrs.  Sartoris's  "Week  in  a  French  Country 
House." 

I  ask  Mr.  Sal mier  whether  I  can  enter  the  great  open 
gateway  of  the  notary's  house.  "  Not  without  permission," 
he  answers.  "  If  you  wanted  to  put  money  at  interest  you 
would  be  welcome."  (I  understand  that  notaries  resemble 
our  conveyancers.) 

The  richest  person  in  the  village,  and  one  whose  name 
is  much  sounded,  is  a  widow  with  one  child, — a  young 
daughter, — and  doubtless  the  })roperty  belongs  to  both. 
ISIadame  Druvet,  as  I  call  her,  has  about  two  hundred  and 
fifty  acres,  and  twenty  horses.  She  lives  in  a  long  brick 
house,  with  four  windows  on  one  side  of  the  front  door 
and  four  on  the  other,  having  white  window-blinds,  all 
closed,  and  the  front  door  white,  with  no  steps  to  go  up  to 
it.  However,  the  court-yard  stands  open ;  and  what  ad- 
mirable order  there  is  within  !  Madame  Druvet  manages 
her  own  affairs.  She,  the  mayor,  and  one  other  are  the 
only  persons  who  have  a  right  to  hunt  in  this  com- 
mune. For  permission  to  hunt,  or  to  send  a  hunter,  you 
must  pay  five  dollars  yearly ;  then  you  can  take  partridges, 
hares,  and  rabbits.  I  see  a  great  hole  in  a  bank,  where 
there  is  a  rabbit-warren.  There  are  not  enough  hunters 
here  to  keep  down  the  rabbits  that  eat  the  crops.  I  visit 
a  wood  of  Madame  Dru vet's, — a  planted  wood  of  several 
acres.  She  forbids  hunting  in  it;  and,  indeed,  it  is  in 
many  places  scarcely  permeable, — being  a  thicket.  Again 
I  hear  that  Madame  Druvet  has  in  this  commune  over 
three  hundred  acres,  worth  on  an  average  about  four  hini- 


346  FRENCH  AND  BELGIANS. 

drcfl  and  eighty  dollars  the  acre.  She  desires  all  her  hands 
to  vote  the  Boiia])artist  ticket,  and  would  probably  favor 
the  legitimist  if  there  were  one.  "Why  is  she  so  niiK-li 
on  that  side?"  I  ask.  "Madame  Druvet  holds  much  to 
religion,"  is  the  reply.  (But  this  commune  is  republican.) 
I  was  to  be  taken  to  see  Madame  Druvet,  but  fate  forbade, 
as  will  be  shown  hereafter.  The  aristocracy  was  not  for  me. 
I  am  not  entirely  sure  that  I  should  include  the  cur6 
among  the  great  i)eople  of  the  village;  he  is  not  rich.  In 
walking  through  the  street,  after  you  pass  the  church  and 
come  towards  the  little  chapel  at  the  cross-road,  the  first 
house  that  you  pass  is  a  two-story  one.  Here  lives  Miss 
Gouchon,  who  is  sixty  or  more,  and  has  no  domestic. 
Quick  !  see  that  black-robed  figure  going  up  those  steps. 
He  has  dlsaj>peared,  and  there  is  nothing  to  be  seen  but  a 
green  door  in  a  high  brick  wall.  Yes,  you  can  see  the  roof 
of  a  house  and  a  large  walnut-tree.  Here  lives  Mr.  Cur6 
with  his  old  aunt.  He  has  no  servant, — he  has  only  the 
old  aunt.  Once  there  were  two  aunts.  Possibly  they  said 
to  him  when  he  was  younger,  "We  will  educate  you,  and 
then  you  shall  keep  us."  Or  possibly  they  had  other  reve- 
nues. He  receives  from  the  government  the  enormous 
salary  of  nine  hundred  francs, — say  one  hundred  and  sev- 
enty-one dollars.  Then  the  commune  also  gives  him  some- 
thing; besides  his  house  and  garden,  he  has  one  hundred 
and  fifty  francs  a  year  for  saying  low  mass.  He  <loe8  not 
come  to  see  us.  He  docs  not  love  republicans;  and,  in- 
deed, he  goes  nowhere, — only  to  visit  the  schools.  "And 
he  visits  the  schools?"  I  ask.  "Yes;  it  is  his  duty,"  is 
the  answer.  It  may  be  remembered  that  I  met  at  Paris  a 
lady-inspoctress  of  infant  s<'hools,  and  that  I  have  spoken 
of  the  office  of  ins|)ector.  I  hear  at  this  village,  "As  for 
the  inspector,  he  lives  at  Cambray,  and  only  conies  once  a 


THE  NORTH.  347 

year.     When  he  comes  he  goes  to  the  cur6  and  the  mayor, 
and  they  go  round  together." 

But  we  have  not  yet  heard  all  the  perquisites  of  the  curd, 
or  parisli  priest.  For  high  masses  chanted  during  the 
week  he  receives  forty  sous  for  each  mass.  Madame  Dru- 
vet  has  two  said  a  week  for  her  husband  and  her  relatives 
and  deceased  friends.  Then  tliere  is  a  Mr.  Buffon,  a  de- 
ceased bachelor,  whose  heirs  have  a  mass  said  once  a  week 
for  the  repose  of  his  soul ;  and  tliere  are  others,  so  that 
there  is  a  mass  every  day.  Then  every  Sunday  the  cur6 
says  a  De  Profundis  for  seventy-five  dead  people.  He  re- 
peats all  the  names  every  Sunday,  and  he  receives  five 
francs  a  year  for  each  person,  from  the  families.  For  a 
funeral  he  is  paid  about  as  follows:  at  eleven  o'clock,  one 
hundred  francs;  at  ten,  eighty  francs;  at  nine,  forty;  at 
eight,  perhaps  as  low  as  fifteen.  For  marriages,  when  there 
are  no  masses,  he  receives  nothing;  and  there  are  not 
many  with  masses,  because  the  people  here  are  not  too  de- 
vout, and  on  account  of  the  expense.  It  costs  about  thirty 
francs,  and  there  are  years  that  there  is  not  a  marriage  with 
mass.  Every  time  that  the  cur6  makes  a  baptism  he  re- 
ceives from  twenty  sous  to  three  francs,  and  sometimes 
boxes  of  sngar-plums  too.  I  am  told  that  these  altogether 
probably  amount  to  six  hundred  francs. 


This  village  cannot  increase  in  size,  because  the  lands 
around  it  belong  to  the  hospitals  of  a  neighboring  city. 
Lands  given  to  the  poor  were  not  seized  during  the  Revolu- 
tion. It  was  the  lands  of  the  seigneurs  and  the  Church  and 
the  curfe,  those  who -emigrated,  that  were  sold.  In  renting 
lands  here,  there  is  a  peculiar  bonus  given  called  the  pot  of 
wine,  or  pot  de  vin, — the  custom  being  probably  ancient. 


348  FRENCH  AND   BELGIANS. 

Ijands  are  always  rented  for  nine  years.  Madame  Drnvet 
rente<l  hers  for  about  twelve  dollars  the  acre  yearly.  The 
pot  de  vin  which  she  receives  is  another  twelve  dollars  on 
each  acre,  paid  once  in  these  nine  years.  For  some  extra 
lands  an  extra  pot  de  vin  is  bid,  ain«)unting  even,  as  high 
as  seventy  dollars  the  acre.  Mr.  Cireau,  the  mayor,  rented 
his  thus  (there  were  nearly  one  hundred  acres) :  for  eigh- 
teen years  at  about  sixteen  dollars  the  acre,  and  the  pot  de 
vin  sixteen  dollars  more;  therefore  the  first  year's  rent 
is  double,  or  thirty-two  to  thirty -three  dollars  per  acre. 
Then  at  the  end  of  the  first  nine  years  there  must  be 
another  pot  de  vin,  so  that  the  rent  of  the  tenth  yexir  will 
amount  to  thirty-two  dollars  or  over.  Those  who  hire 
these  lands  also  have  to  ])ay  the  taxes,  which  amount  to 
about  one  and  a  half  dollars  per  acre.  In  renting  lands  at 
these  high  figures,  Mr.  Salmier  says  that  the  renter  can 
nuike  something  if  he  does  not  have  to  hire  hands,  but  he 
cannot  buy  proj>erty;  he  can  live,  but  he  cannot  lay  by 
money.  He  adds  that  in  part  of  his  land  the  renter  will 
have  to  raise  forage  for  his  horses  or  he  must  buy ;  and 
this  year,  which  hius  been  wet,  forage  of  sainfoin,  lucerne, 
etc.,  will  cost  him  thirty  sous  daily  for  two  horses,  and 
of  oats  it  will  require  yearly  about  ninety-three  dollars' 
worth. 

I  have  told  how  at  Bolssii^res,  in  Central  Franw,  after 
raising  a  crop  of  grain  they  do  not  fatigue  the  ground  the 
second  y«»r.  Mr.  Salmier  tells  me  that  fornjerly  lands  here 
were  allowed  to  lie  fallow  every  third  year.  The  land  was 
divided  into  three  parts:  all  who  raised  wheat  raised  it  on 
one  of  these  thirds;  those  who  raised  oats  on  the  second 
third  ;  and  the  other  third  was  jaclidrc,  or  dead  land,  which 
lay  uncultivati'd.  The  next  year  wheat  was  plantc<l  on  the 
fallow,  oats  on  the  wheat  ground,  and  the  other  third  went 


THE  NORTH.  349 

fallow.  Then  they  did  not  manure  the  fields,  but  burned 
the  straw,  and  few  horses  were  necessary.  (An  inquiring 
mind  might  ask  how  much  this  system  of  farming  had  to 
do  with  bringing  about  the  great  Revolution,  or  the  misery 
that  prevailed  at  that  time.) 

Before  leaving  France,  I  call  again  on  my  kind  iiost,  Mr. 
Napoleon  Gouchon,  where  we  dined.  He  wishes  to  know 
of  me  how  land  is  rented  where  we  are ;  I  answer  for  half 

the  grain.     "  But  if  there  is  a  seigneur,  like  Mr.  De , 

who  owns  a  wood  and  perhaps  two  hundred  and  fifty  acres 
in  this  commune,  and  altogether  about  one  thousand, — 
how,  then,  would  people  like  us  peasiuits  rent  his  lands?" 
I  rej)ly,  "We  do  not  have  any  persons  who  own  so  much 
land  where  I  live"  [i.e.,  in  my  neighborhood].  "How  did 
this  gentleman  get  his  land  ?"  "  Oh,  his  father  had  it,  and 
perhaps  his  grandfather."  Land  is  valued  here  thus,  in 
round  numbers,  beginning  at  the  lowest  of  four  classes: 
the  fourth  class  at  three  hundred  and  sixty  dollars  per 
acre,  the  third  at  four  hundred,  the  second  at  four  hundred 
and  eighty,  and  the  first,  or  higliest,  at  six  hundred  and 
forty  (five  francs  to  the  dollar,  two  and  a  half  acres  to 
the  hectare).  The  flax  crop  of  which  I  have  spoken,  com- 
puted to  be  worth  over  fifty  dolhirs  an  acre  after  deduct- 
ing ex|)ense.-s,  was  grown  on  land  of  nearly  the  first  quality, 
and  realized  about  nine  per  cent.  This  was  a  good  return 
for  flax,  but  not  exceptional.  They  sell  their  flax  in  the 
field,  and  do  not  prepare  it  themselves.  The  value  of  a 
go(Kl  acre  in  beets  is  near  eighty  dollars,  and  the  leaves  for 
feeding  are  worth  about  two  in  addition.  The  expenses  are 
about  forty-two  dollars.  Beets  exhaust  the  land  more  than 
flax;  after  flax  you  need  not  manure  for  wheat,  but  after 
beets  you  must,  unless  you  have  manured  heavily.  Tho 
average  yield  of  wheat,  I  am  told,  is  about  twenty- four 


350  FRENCH  AND  BELGIANS. 

bushels.*  In  this  commune,  containing  fifteen  hundretl 
and  thirty-one  acres  of  cultivatetl  land,  five  iiundred  acres 
have  been  put  into  wheat  in  one  year;  of  beets,  one  hun- 
dred and  seventy-three  acres ;  of  colza  and  seeds  for  oil, 
about  sixty-one  acres, — mostly  in  poppies.  Mr.  Salmier 
sells  his  poppy-seeds  by  sample  at  Cambray,  and  they  buy 
oil  to  eat;  I  have  already  mentioned  that  this  oil  is  eaten 
on  sidad.  Linseed-oil  cake  is  fed  here  to  cows,  but  the 
refuse  of  colza  and  poppy-seed  oil  is  use<I  for  manure. 
Rirn-yard  manure  is  the  princi{)al  employed;  lime  also  is 
applied ;  guano  was  formerly,  but  it  is  now  too  dear. 

Mrs.  Salmier  tells  me  that  men  working  in  harvest  get 
thirty-five  sous  a  day,  and  women  twenty-five,  and  I  un- 
derstand that  they  are  not  boarded.  Then,  if  wheat  l)e 
worth  one  dollar  and  thirty-three  cents  the  bushel,  the 
laboring-man  must  work  just  about  four  days  to  earn  a 
bushel. 

Men  will  sometimes  take  a  job  of  haying  and  harvest  by 
contract, — to  cut  the  sainfoin,  lucerne,  and  clover,  which 
have  two  cuttings,  and  the  wheat,  oats,  barley,  etc.,  which 
have  only  one.  They  are  paid  in  wheat,  boarding  them- 
selves, and  cannot  make  more  than  two  francs  a  day.  A 
man  working  thus  will  tiike  his  breakfast  into  the  field,  of 
brciid,  with  a  little  butter  or  cheese,  and  a  little  beer.  He 
makes  his  own  beer,  although  it  is  forbidden.  It  requires 
a  license  to  make  beer,  but,  apparently,  such  cases  are 
winked  at.  He  comes  home  to  a  dinner  of  vegetable  soup, 
and  jK-'rhaps  a  bit  of  bacon,  or  he  may  havea/acrt«sc  made 
with  a  bit  of  butter,  onions,  potatoes,  and  sometimes  |)eas, 

*  The  production  of  wheat  in  this  department  of  the  North — //« 
Nord — is  said  to  have  risen  as  high  as  hixty-nino  bushels  to  the  acre, 
•Ixly  hectolitres  the  hectare.  The  overai^e  value  is  twenty  francs  the 
hectolitre,  or  about  seven  franco  the  bushel. 


THE  NORTH.  351 

with  fragrant  herbs;  it  is  said  to  be  excellent.  He  may 
have  ho{\\  fricasse  and  soup  at  dinner,  which  is  his  principal 
meal.  He  takes  two  hours  at  noon.  At  four  he  eats  in 
the  fields, — the  same  as  at  breakfast, — and  his  evening  meal 
is  like  his  dinner.  When  Mrs.  Salmler  tells  me  about  the 
food  of  harvesters,  she  asks,  "  And  with  you  is  it  not  the 
same  thing?"  "No;  we  feed  our  hands."  "Oh,  that 
costs  too  much  !  that  is  dear  !"  she  says. 

I  am  interested  in  seeing  the  umbrellas  that  are  some- 
times put  upon  wheat-shocks  in  the  field, — umbrellas  with- 
out handles,  made  of  straw  and  twine.  They  call  them 
chaperons,  or  hoods.  The  Salmiers  have  some  which  they 
had  made,  and  I  am  told  that  that  costs  money.  A  man 
made  twenty  in  a  day,  he  furnishing  the  twine,  and  re- 
ceived six  francs  and  his  board.     They  will  last  ten  years. 


In  travelling  in  this  part  of  the  world,  it  is  remarkable 
to  an  American  to  observe  the  small  number  of  swine.  At 
Mr.  Gouchon's,  where  we  dined,  there  were  four  horses  and 
seven  cows,  and  only  one  hog ;  and  being  shut  up,  as  I  have 
seen  them,  in  little  brick  houses  without  windows,  one  would 
think  they  might  go  blind.  They  give  their  hog  here  rye 
three  times  a  day,  always  boiling  it,  but  some  grind  it. 
Rye  is  worth  about  eighty-seven  cents  a  bushel. 

I  have  spoken  of  the  small  number  of  house-flies,  but 
there  are  horse-flies.  In  bringing  me  from  the  railroad 
Mr.  Salmier's  good  young  horse  had  on  a  blue  cloth  with 
long,  heavy  cotton  fringe  to  protect  him  from  the  flies  that 
make  horses  bleed.  I  think  sheep  are  very  scarce.  Madame 
Druvet  owns  a  flock,  and  they  may  be  seen  feeding  on  the 
roadsides,  guarded  by  a  man  and  three  dogs  to  keep  them 
oif  the  fields. 


352  FRENCH  AND  BELGIANS. 

I  have  remarked  liow  little  the  people  travel.  There 
is  a  railroad  about  a  mile  and  a  quarter  from  here,  but  a 
large  proportion  of  grown  persons  in  this  village  have  never 
been  in  a  car :  they  are  afraid.  The  greater  part  of  the 
women  here — say  three-quarters — have  never  been  farther 
than  the  neighboring  city,  about  six  miles  00".  There  is 
more  movement  among  the  men,  because  some  of  them  are 
merchants  who  sell  things ;  but  there  are  men  here,  too,  who 
have  never  been  farther  than  that  city.  By  the  railroad 
just  mentioned  they  can  go  there,  but  it  costs  nineteen  sous; 
and  those  who  have  vehicles  would  rather  ride,  and  ti)ose 
who  have  none  would  rather  walk.  The  roads  here  are 
generally  very  good;  one  person  is  constantly  employed  to 
work  on  them,  and  he  can  always  demand  aid  when  neces- 
sary. In  all  the  communes  every  man  from  eighteen  to 
sixty  must  make  three  days'  work  upon  the  roads  or  fur- 
nish money,  having  made  a  declaration.  Those  who  have 
horses  and  wagons  are  also  obliged  to  furnish  them  for  three 
days.  At  Lisle,  the  chief  city  of  tiiis  department,  there  is 
a  chief  road-inspector.  Another  principal  inspector  is  at 
the  chief  town  of  our  arrondissement;  and  in  the  third 
place,  there  is  a  road-inspector  in  our  cantonal  town. 
These  attend  to  constructing  and  repairing  roads.  The 
brewer,  the  sugar-manufacturer,  the  maker  of  tiles  for  roofs 
and  floors,  tli«  coal-merchant,  is  asked  what  he  is  carrying, 
and  how  much,  and  this  is  rej)ortetl  to  the  insj)ector  of  the 
canton.  At  the  end  of  the  year  the  merchant  is  charged 
for  this  tran8|>ortation,  and  this  is  called  industrial  sub- 
sidy. When  I  express  to  Mr.  Salmier  my  surprise  at  this 
regulation,  he  says  in  his  o|)en,  clear  manner,  "  You  are 
not  administered  in  America  as  France  is;  it  is  not  possi- 
ble." I  rejtjin  that  one  of  our  great  men  said  that  the 
world  is  governetl  too  much ;  and  that  we  have  another 


THE  NORTH.  353 

saying  of  which  I  often  think, — that "  eternal  vigilance  is  the 
price  of  liberty ;"  adding,  "  If  ygii  want  to  keep  yours,  you 
must  be  always  upon  the  watch,  and  not  allow  coups  d'etat." 
Perhaps  it  would  have  been  more  pertinent  to  ask  whether 
merchants  are  not  public  benefactors,  and  therefore  entitled 
to  a  free  passage;  and  whether  octrois  and  such  restrictions 
upon  trade  are  judicious. 


The  garde  champHre  has  been  in  at  Mr.  Salrnier's  wearing 
his  blouse ;  but  one  hundred  and  forty-two  francs  have  been 
voted  to  get  liim  a  new  uniform.  He  is  the  field-guard,  on  a 
salary  of  six  hundred  franas ;  but  he  has  also  perquisites,  as 
when  he  beats  a  saucej)an  and  cries  a  sale,  or  announces  the 
coming  of  a  butcher  with  meat,  or  a  hog-merchant.  There 
is  one  of  these  guards,  I  am  told,  in  every  commune,  and  in 
the  larger  ones  two.  The  duty  of  this  guard  is  to  watch 
the  harvests  and  see  that  they  are  not  stolen.  He  also 
makes  a  round  of  all  the  drink ing-places  at  ten  o'clock  on 
Sundays  and  f6te-days,  at  which  hour  he  sounds  the  retreat 
on  the  church-bell ;  after  that,  if  he  finds  drinkers  in  the 
restaurants  or  disorderly  persons  on  the  streets,  he  draws 
up  against  them  a  proc^s-vei'bal  and  signs  it,  and  the  mayor 
certifies  it,  and  sends  it  to  be  registered,  and  then  the  re- 
ceiver of  registration  sends  it  to  another  officer, — the  Imissier, 
— who  cites  the  offender  to  appear  before  the  magistrate  or 
judge  of  peace. 

This  is  a  republican  district,  but,  not  long  since,  a  B(ma- 
partist  was  elected  to  the  Chamber  of  Deputies.  The  re- 
publicans, it  is  said,  were  not  rich  enough  or  were  not  will- 
ing to  offer  themselves,  as  an  election  costs  about  twenty 
thousand  dollars,  for  handbills,  for  distributing  ballots,  etc. 


354  FRESCH  AND  BELGIANS. 

Although  this  is  the  most  northerly  department  of  France, 
yet  a  deputy  elected  here  in  the  fall  of  1877  was  from  the 
Oriental  Pyrenees,  in  the  extreme  south.  Candidates  gen- 
erally make  a  profession  of  political  faith,  and  that  of  this 
})erson  had  also  affixed  the  name  of  MacMahon,  the  candi- 
date being  a  Bonapartist.  He  was  elected,  but  he  was  set 
aside  in  the  chamber  on  account  of  having  used  too  much 
jyression,  or  [persuasion :  he  had  flattered  the  people  too  much. 
He  Ment  into  the  houses  of  workingmen  and  asked  them 
how  much  they  earned  a  day  by  weaving,  and  when  they 
perhaps  answered  twenty  or  thirty  sous,  "But  if  I  am 
elected,"  he  said,  "  I  i)romise  you  ten  francs  a  day." 

"And  did  they  believe  him?"  I  ask  of  Mr.  Salmier. 
"Yes;  and  instead  of  gaining  they  lost,  as  their  republi- 
can employer  took  away  their  work  becjiuse  they  did  not 
vote  for  him."  Funny  France!  And  when  the  Pyrenees 
gentleman  was  set  aside,  then  this  rej)ul)lic'an  cjuididate, 
who  is  a  great  manufacturer  in  this  department,  was  elected 
by  more  than  four  thousand  majority.  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Sal- 
mier think  that  the  lal)oring-man  should  support  his  em- 
ployer. She  says  that  thoy  are  ignorant  people,  who  do  not 
know  how  to  read  and  write.  But  is  it  strange  that  a  man 
who  earns  only  twenty-five  cents  a  day  should  have  igno- 
rant chihlren?*  So  far  I  have  spoken  of  the  agricultural 
population,  but  this  is  one  of  the  most  celebrated  manufac- 
turing districts  in  the  world.  At  Cambray  is  a  statue  of 
Batiste,  from  whom  the  French  batkte,  or  linen  cambric, 
derives  its  name.     I  have  thought  that  our  word  cambric 

*  By  the  ccncu*  of  1872,  there  were  in  the  department  above  de- 
scribed, of  persons  over  six  yours  of  age,  fully  thirty -six  in  a  hundred 
who  did  not  know  how  to  read  or  write.  By  the  census  of  1870,  there 
were  in  Pennsylvania,  of  persons  ten  years  old  and  upward,  less  than 
four  in  a  hundred  who  could  not  read. 


THE   NORTH.  355 

comes  from  Cambrai.  And  who  has  not  heard  of  Lisle 
thread  ?  I  need  sciircely  mention  for  what  Valenciennes 
is  celebrated. 


CHAPTER    XXIII. 

I  HAVE  said  that  Mr.  Salmier,  with  whom  I  board,  belongs 
to  the  fabric  of  the  church.  I  suppose  that  the  English 
would  call  hira  a  church- warden.  The  cur6  and  the  mayor 
are  by  right  members  of  the  vestry,  then  there  are  five  more, 
three  named  by  the  bishop  (but  here  by  the  archbishop  of 
Cam  bray),  and  two  by  the  prefect  or  governor  of  the  de- 
partment. Thus  church  and  state  are  both  represented. 
However,  the  archbishop  and  the  prefect  are  not  to  be  sup- 
posed to  know  the  people  of  all  the  little  communes,  and 
so  the  three  appointed  by  the  archbishop  are  proposed  by 
the  cur6,  and  the  two  namefl  by  the  prefet^t  are  proposed  by 
the  mayor.  (All  the  church-wardens  here  are  republican 
except  one;  but  they  were  named  under  the  Empire,  when 
there  was  no  question  of  a  republic.)  The  money  for  pay- 
ing the  expenses  of  the  church  is  obtained  by  the  chairs  in 
the  church ;  some  of  these  chair-rights  are  twenty -seven  sous 
a  yejir,  some  thirty-two,  and  some  forty.  The  vestry  gets 
part  of  the  expenses  of  funerals,  and  six  sous  on  masses 
chante<l  through  the  week.  The  money  received  by  the 
vestry  is  expended  in  ornaments,  candles,  incense,  and  wine 
for  the  cur6  in  the  masses, — the  wine  costing  forty  francs 
yearly.  The  vestry  pays  also  for  all  repairs  in  the  interior 
of  the  church,  the  government  paying  for  the  outside;  but 
the  vestry  does  not  furnish  fuel,  for  they  have  no  fire  in 


356  FRENCH  AND  BELGIANS. 

the  winter.  "Is  it  not  very  cold  in  winter?"  I  ask.  "Yes; 
as  for  mo,  I  do  m)t  go  to  mass  when  it  is  cold :  I  cannot,"  says 
Mr.  Salniier.  "  I  should  think  the  cur^  would  get  sick,"  I 
say.  "Oh,  no;  they  are  more  hardy  than  we:  tiiey  are 
ten  years  in  the  seminary  without  fire."  "  Tliey  have  fire 
in  tlie  rooms  in  whicli  they  recite?"  I  ask.  "No;  only  fire 
to  do  the  cooking." 

Mr.  Salmier  tells  me  that  he  once  visited  a  Protestant 
temple,  and  that  every Ixxly  sang  and  nobody  talketi.  I  do 
not  understiind  what  he  means  hy  the  Ia.st  part  of  the  re- 
mark; but  he  explains  that  in  their  church  the  men  talk. 
The  women  have  chaire  and  do  not  converse,  but  the  men 
stand  l)ack  of  them  and  talk,  and  the  cur6  says  nothing 
alx)iit  it.  Also,  some  of  the  men  stand  outside  and  talk 
loud  enough  to  l)e  heard  within.  Not  more  than  half  the 
men  go  to  church.  In  summer  they  continue  their  work 
in  the  fields,  and  the  weaver  takes  Sunday  to  cultivate  his 
truck-patch.  Of  the  men  that  do  go,  one-half  leave  w  hen 
the  mass  is  over,  and  do  not  wait  to  hear  the  sermon. 
A  person  in  the  village  s[)ejiks  thus  to  me:  "In  winter, 
when  the  cur6  comes  down  from  the  altar  and  goes  into 

his  cask "     "  What?"  I  inquire,  in  surprise.    "Chair 

of  truth.  Don't  you  know  what  that  is,  the  chair  of 
truth?"  Of  course  he  means  the  pulpit.  "When  he 
goes  into  his  chair  the  men,  or  tit  leitst  half  of  them,  go 
to  the  tavern.  In  summer  they  have  not  time, — they  go 
into  the  fields  to  work.  Perhaps  those  men  who  go  to 
the  tiivern  will  come  back  when  the  )>reaching  is  done. 
The  cur6  is  not  a  good  sjwaker:  he  tells  things  we  all 
know." 

At  home,  in  townships  containing  from  seven  hundred 
to  two  thousand  people,  we  should  have  more  than  one 
church.     But  more  tiian  one  does  not  seem  to  be  wanted  in 


THE  NORTH.  357 

the  French  villages  I  visit,  which  reminds  me  of  the  motto 
of  the  Guises, — "  One  faith,  one  law." 


There  are  several  points  in  which  this  part  of  France 
diflPers  from  what  I  saw  farther  south.  First,  it  is  proper 
for  the  young  men  to  wait  upon  the  young  women  home 
from  the  evening  dance;  second,  I  found  the  church  door 
locketl  and  did  not  get  in  ;  and,  third,  I  had  no  difficulty 
in  obtjiining  admiasion  into  the  schools.  In  communes  or 
townships  that  have  less  than  five  hundred  inhabitants  it  is 
allowefl  for  the  boys  and  girls  to  go  to  the  same  school. 
But  Boissidres,  in  Central  France,  had  about  two  thousand, 
and  this  commune  has  over  seven  hundred.  All  the  forty 
years  that  Mr.  Salmier  taught  here  the  boys  and  girls  came 
to  him  together,  but  of  late  they  have  been  divided.  Three 
nuns  teach  the  girls'  communal  school.  One  is  paid  by 
Madame  Druvet  to  teach  her  daughter,  and  the  other  two 
by  the  commune.  The  commune  gives  nine  hundred  francs 
and  Madame  Druvet  six  hundred,  the  conditions  having 
been  made  in  advance  that  the  three  would  come  for  fifteen 
hundred  francs.  Then  they  have  their  dwelling  besides. 
Tiie  deceased  Mr.  Druvet  put  up  this  nice  dwelling  and  the 
school-building  at  an  expense  of  about  five  thousand  dol- 
lars, and  offered  them  to  the  commune  on  condition  that 
the  Sisters  should  be  employed  to  teach.  For  three  women 
to  teach  ten  months  in  the  year  for  five  hundred  dollars  and 
their  house-rent  is  not  remarkable  emolument,  but  the  re- 
ligious orders  must  be  able  to  underbid  others.  If  their 
living  is  guaranteed  to  them  under  any  circumstances,  of 
course  they  can  teach  lower.  Marie,  Mr.  Salmier's  young 
daughter,  accompanies  me  to  the  school.  The  building  is 
new,  and  in  the  front  yard  is  a  beautiful  flower-bed.     We 

16* 


358  FRENCH  AND  BELGIANS. 

enter  and  pass  tlirougli  the  house,  seeing  within  a  pretty 
young  Sister  in  a  gray  dress  and  very  peculiar  muslin  cap, 
with  long  ears  pointing  downwards  and  forwards.  It  must 
be  some  trouble  to  keep  such  caps  done  up.  In  one  of  the 
rooms  is  a  fat  lady  in  black.  Marie  says  it  is  Madame 
Dnivet.  This  is  tlie  first  opportunity  I  iiave  had  to  see 
that  distingnished  lady.  We  pass  into  the  sc^hool-house, 
which  is  neatly  built  and  divided  into  two  (^lass-rooms.  The 
first  teacher  who  receives  me  is  another  young  and  pretty 
Sister;  there  are  very  few  girls  in  the  well-lighted  class- 
room, and  the  Sister  does  not  let  me  hear  them  recite,  saying 
that  they  are  not  ready.  So  we  pass  into  anotiier  class-room 
and  behold  another  young  Sister  of  St.  Anne, — not  quite  so 
j)retty  as  the  others.  This  class,  too,  is  slender ;  it  is  har- 
vest-time, when  we  have  no  schools  with  us  in  country 
places.  I  understand  the  teacher  to  say  that  children  enter 
here  at  four,  and  stay  until  they  can  read.  I  ask  if  they 
recite  the  multiplication  table,  and  she  says  something  about 
their  reciting  the  addition  table,  etc.  There  is  no  effort  to 
show  me  anything  at  all.  I  see  no  maps  nor  blackboards; 
but  perhaps  I  do  not  stay  long  enough.  Wlien  one  is  not 
invited  to  sit  down,  and  when  a  person  stands  waiting  upon 
you,  it  is  not  very  easy  to  see  and  do  much,  especially  if 
tiiat  person  limits  her  own  conversation.  Several  of  the 
children  have  weak  eyes,  which  I  observe,  but  the  teacher 
says  that  the  doctor  has  not  said  what  is  the  reason.  As 
Marie  and  I  are  going  away  we  meet  a  little  one  in  the 
yard,  coming  with  knitting  in  hand.  The  teacher,  who  is 
conducting  me,  says  that  the  small  class  knit  tiiree-quarters 
of  an  hour  a  day.  The  others  sew  one  half-day  in  the 
week,  which  Mr.  Salmicr  thinks  is  not  enough.  As  we  are 
going  I  notice  the  pretty  flowers  in  the  yard,  and  the  Sister 
says  tiiat  they  tend  them  themselves:  it  is  recreation  for 


THE  NORTH.  359 

them.  I  had  before  told  her  of  having  been  at  Paris,  when 
she  quietly  took  off  lier  blue  apron.  What  a  nice-looking 
young  woman  she  is !  I  speak  to  her  of  the  system  of 
Froebel,  as  they  call  it  at  Paris,  or  the  Kindergarten,  and 
she  has  not  heard  of  it.  As  we  are  going  and  returning 
from  our  brief  visit,  we  see  four  to  six  children  at  the  an- 
cient brick  chapel  in  the  cross-roads.  "  What  are  they 
doing?"  I  say  to  Marie.  "Playing,"  the  quiet  child  re- 
plies. "  Why  do  they  not  go  to  school  ?"  "  Because  they 
don't  want  to,"  she  answers.  But  one  has  a  big  basket  in 
which  to  pick  up  manure,  and  one  has  a  child  on  her  back. 
"  They  are  keeping  the  younger  ones,"  I  say,  "  while  their 
mothers  are  in  the  fields;"  which  Marie  does  not  deny. 
They  are  all  girls,  with  dark  caps  on  their  heads. 

I  have  before  spoken  of  the  school  examinations  in  France. 
I  learn  now  that  at  one  lately  held  here  at  the  cantonal  town 
there  were  twenty  girls  who  received  the  certificate  of  studies, 
but  there  were  none  from  this  commune.  Marie  Salmier, 
I  am  told,  was  sufficiently  advanced,  but  the  nuns  did  not 
send  her,  saying  that  they  would  wait  another  year  and  then 
there  would  be  two.  Nevertheless,  the  inspector  questioned 
her,  and  said  that  she  could  have  received  the  certificate. 
"  But,  as  the  Sisters  did  not  send  you,  you  were  not  received," 
I  say  to  Marie.  "There  must  be  papers  to  be  received," 
the  quiet  girl  answers.  "What  kind  of  papers?"  I  ask. 
"A  certificate  of  birth,"  says  Marie.  O  France!  what  a 
France  thou  art ! 

After  my  visit  to  the  girls'  school,  I  tell  Mrs.  Salmier  of 
my  not  being  shown  any  exercises.  I  had  previously  told 
her  about  my  visit  to  the  cathedral  at  Cambray,  and  about 
my  having  gone  into  a  place  where  there  were  great  books 
on  stands,  and  how  I  had  been  told  that  it  was  not  per- 
mitted.    "It  was  the  choir,"  she  replied,  in  a  kind  of  awe 


360  FREXCH  AND  BELGIANS. 

mingled  with  amusement.  Now,  when  I  tell  her  of  the 
manner  of  my  reception  at  the  girls'  S(;hool,  she  inquires 
whether  I  told  the  Sisters  that  I  was  in  the  choir.  She 
sjiys  that  women  are  not  admitted  there.  "  But  why  not 
women?"  I  ask,  and  she  seems  unable  to  explain. 


Mr.  Salmier  tells  me  that  children  of  ten  go  every  day 
to  the  church  to  be  examined  by  the  cur6  in  the  catechism 
preparatory  to  the  first  communion,  which  takes  place  about 
eleven.  He  says  also  that  they  learn  the  New  Testament. 
"Do  you  know  the  New  Testament?"  he  asks.  I  smile, 
and  answer  that  we  have  it.  He  adds  that  they  learn 
sacred  history.  I  say,  "  You  do  not  have  the  Testament 
jtself ;"  which  he  does  not  deny. 

To  the  boys'  school  Mrs.  Salmier  accompanies  me. 
yiiis  also  is  a  new  building;  and  the  school  is  taught  by 
a  young  man  of  twenty-threo,  from  the  normal  school  at 
Poiiai.  When  I  ask  Mrs.  Salmier  whether  he  obtained  the 
brevet,  or  diploma,  she  replies  that  he  would  not  be  here  if 
he  had  not.  The  building  is  very  good,  but  the  benches 
for  large  and  small  pupils  are  all  of  one  height.  I  find 
the  boys  quite  intelligent,  but  they  cannot  tell  me  any 
other  way  of  coming  from  my  country  than  by  the  Atlantic 
Ocean.  The  teacher  asks  al)out  our  schools ;  he  supposes 
that  we  are  beginning  to  have  them.  Whereupon  I  tell 
him  that  in  some  of  our  States  they  have  been  established 
two  hundred  years.  He  says  that  the  children  here  pay 
for  their  books:  they  are  well  off.  I  tell  him  that  our 
scholars  do  not ;  and  he  thinks  that  they  would  not  be 
willing  to  accept  this  here.  I  offer  to  try  to  send  him  the 
lx)ok  of  American  compositions  of  which  I  have  before 
spoken.  When  we  go  out  into  the  yard, — a  good-sized  one, — 


THE  NORTH.  361 

I  see  a  house  on  the  other  side  of  the  yard  with  the  door 
open ;  it  is  his  own  house,  and  he  invites  us  over.  How 
neat  it  is,  with  its  tiled  floor  (the  tiles  red,  and  so  nicely 
sanded),  with  its  curtiiins  and  no  flies!  His  wife  is  away 
from  home.  One  end  of  the  house  is  occupied  by  the 
mayor's  office.  Afterwards  we  walk  into  the  teacher^s 
garden,  which  he  takes  care  of  himself.  It  is  of  a  good 
size,  and  is  well  kept.  We  compare  salaries.  I  tell  him 
of  schools  in  America  that  are  open  six  months  and  pay 
forty  dollars  a  month.  Here  the  school  is  open  until  the 
latter  part  of  August,  and  begins  again  on  the  first  of 
October.  He  receives  from  the  commune  one  thousand 
francs  a  year  and  his  comfortable  dwelling  and  good  gar- 
den. Then  he  gives  private  lessons,  by  which  he  earns  as 
much  as  his  salary.  Is  not  that  fine?  I  hear  from  him 
that  all  schools,  public  and  private,  may  go  to  the  con- 
cours,  or  competitive  examination,  which  was  established, 
for  schools  of  this  grade,  three  years  ago.  Girls  were  not 
invited  until  this  year. 

When  Mr.  Druvet  built  the  nice  school-room  for  girls 
(the  law  now  requiring  that  boys  and  girls  shall  be 
separate),  he  offered  it  to  the  commune  on  condition 
that  the  Sisters  of  St.  Anne  should  teach  the  school ; 
the  commune  feared,  not  the  Sisters,  but  the  expense; 
and  hesitated.  Then  somebody  sent  word  to  Lisle,  and 
the  sub-prefect  came  down  here,  —  not  the  great  man 
himself,  but  his  vice, — and  the  matter  was  settled.  And 
the  sub-j)refect  wanted  to  know  if  we  had  not  a  map  of 
the  world,  and  said  that  he  would  see  that  we  had  one. 
Now  it  hangs  in  the  boys'  school,  and  on  it  I  am  able  to 
show  to  Mrs.  Salmier  my  own  country,  and  how  I  came 
here;  and  point  out  California,  of  whose  gold  she  has 
heard,  and  Mexico,  of  which  she  has  also  heard ;  and  I 


362  FRENCH  AND   BELGIANS. 

am  also  able  to  show  the  boys  in  what  other  way  they 
can  come  from  my  country  but  by  the  Atlantic.  Thanks 
to  that  great  man,  the  sub-prefect !  He  is  a  greater  man 
than  the  lientenent-governor  of  Rhode  Island,  in  so  far 
as  his  is  a  life-office.  Before  the  revolution  of  1848  the 
parents  paid  the  teacher;  now  those  who  send  children 
pay  a  certain  sum  for  each  child  to  the  tax-collector,  and 
thus  the  teacher  is  paid.  Isn't  that  progress?  It  may  be 
worth  while  to  observe  that  while  the  commune  pays  this 
young  man  one  thousand  francs,  it  pays  the  two  Sisters  six 
hundred  only. 

At  one  time  when  I  meet  this  young  man  something  is 
said  alx)ut  there  being  no  fires  in  the  seminary  where  the 
cur6s  study  (except  for  cooking).  He  replies  that  they 
have  none  during  the  three  years'  course  at  the  normal 
school,  and  that  it  is  to  make  them  hardy;  but  I  tell 
him  that  it  is  to  save  money. 


Marie  shows  me  her  two  sacred  histories, — one  the  little 
one  which  is  used  at  school,  and  the  other  for  her  to  read. 
They  have  no  Bible  nor  Testament  in  the  house,  and  I 
inquire  whether  there  is  one  in  the  village.  "The  cur6 
ought  to  have  one,"  is  the  answer.  Marie  thinks  that  she 
has  a  Bible,  and  brings  me  a  mmlerate-sized  book,  lettered 
on  the  outside  The  Holy  Bible.  It  is  the  larger  book  just 
mentioned.  This  is  the  fifth  edition.  Written  by  an 
dXihC'f  approved  by  the  bishop  of  Amiens,  and  authorized 
by  the  academic  council  of  Douai.  We  find  it  to  be  a 
"  History  of  the  Holy  Bible,  with  edifying  explanations 
drawn  from  the  holy  Fathers."  In  chapter  iv.  we  read  of 
the  punishment  of  Adam, — that  it  was  not  the  |)enitence  of 
Adam  and  Eve,  but  Jesus  Christ  our  Lord,  who  repaired 


THE  NORTH.  363 

the  evil,  and  he  did  it  in  so  advantageous  a  manner  that 
the  Church  can  now  call  the  sin  of  Adam  a  necessary  sin, 
and  his  fault  a  very  fortunate  fault.  In  chapter  xiv.,  re- 
garding the  birth  of  Isaac,  we  are  told  that  the  holy 
Fathers  admire  the  virtues  that  break  forth  in  this  story, 
the  great  charity  of  Abraham  in  receiving  his  guests,  and 
the  great  modesty  of  Sarah.  "  Very  far,"  says  St.  Am- 
brose, "from  imitating  the  persons  of  her  sex,  who  seek 
only  to  show  themselves  in  public  under  the  pretext  of 
exercising  works  of  charity,  she,  on  the  contrary,  remained 
always  shut  up  in  her  tent,  without  even  appearing  before 
the  angels  whom  her  husband  received.  Thus  she  taught 
Christian  women,"  says  the  same  Father,  "that  their  life 
ought  to  be  continually  passed  in  the  secrecy  of  their 
house  and  the  cai-e  of  their  family."  These  extracts  are 
from  the  book  lettered  on  the  outside  The  Holy  Bible. 
The  little  sacred  history  of  primary  schools  is  also  by 
a  churchman,  illustrated  by  sixty  drawings;  is  approved 
by  Pius  IX.,  by  one  cardinal,  several  archbishops,  etc.; 
its  use  authorized  in  the  public  schools  by  the  minis- 
ter of  public  instruction.  Sixteenth  edition,  Paris,  1875. 
Sacred  history,  the  author  tells  us,  is,  like  the  Bible, 
divided  into  two  parts, — "Sacred  history  is  the  word  of 
God." 

Of  the  school-books  in  use  in  the  girls'  school,  I  see  a 
little  French  history  adapted  to  the  youngest  pupils,  also 
by  a  churchman, — a  doctor  of  theology.  Twenty-second 
edition,  Paris,  1875.  In  speaking  of  Henry  IV.  (the 
Protestant),  the  author  says  that  he  was  heir  to  the  throne, 
"  but  the  people  then  had  too  ardent  a  faith  to  obey  a 
heretical  king." 

The  teacher  of  the  boys'  school  is  so  kind  also  as  to  show 
me  a  couple  of  their  books.     One  is  a  very  small  sacred 


364  FRENCH  AND  BELGIANS. 

history,  by  an  insj>ector-generdl  of  public  instruction.  The 
young  man  tells  me  tiiat  it  is  the  translation  of  the  Bible 
itself,—"  la  Bible  mhneJ' 

"  It  is  much  abridged,"  I  say. 

"  Of  the  primitive  Bible,"  he  replies. 

He  inquires  what  language  is  sicken  in  my  country. 


I  have  spoken  of  the  great  j)eople  of  this  commune  of 
the  North  ;  next  in  importance  appear  to  be  the  two  brew- 
ers, one  of  whom  is  vice-mayor  (and  never  goes  to  church). 
I  paid  a  visit  one  afternoon  to  the  house  of  a  brewer  very 
well-to-do,  if  I  may  judge  from  apj^earances.  We — Madame 
Salmier  and  I — do  not  see  him  when,  after  crossing  the 
large  yard,  we  enter  the  house.  But  we  find  two  women, — 
one  little,  one  big.  There  is  a  large  range  and  a  great  coal 
fire, — larger  than  is  common  here, — and  the  little  woman  is 
folding  clothes.  The  big  one  sits  down  to  entertain  us. 
Immwliately  beer  is  handetl,  and  we  all  three  stand  up  and 
touch  glasses,  drinking  our  l)eer  standing.  I  make  some 
remark  on  this  custom,  and  I  learn  then  that  Mrs.  Salmier 
had  observed  that  I  did  not  stand  when  the  mayor  was  at 
their  house. 

I  suppose  the  big  woman  to  be  the  brewer's  wife.  She 
is  a  Belgian,  and  speaks  better  French  than  most  of  the 
|)e()ple  here;  besides,  she  has  been  in  England,  travelling 
with  a  young  lady  in  delirate  health,  and  tells  us  how  much 
their  meals  cost  them  there.  She  had  l)een  cook  in  the 
young  lady's  family.  When  I  hear  this  she  begins  to  de- 
cline in  my  opinion ;  but  she  goes  quite  down  when  she 
says  that  she  is  not  mistress  of  the  house,  but  only  house- 
keeper. She  takes  us  into  a  large  and  well-kept  garden, 
where,  among  many  things,  there  are  j)ear-trees — mostly 


THE  NORTH.  365 

trained  against  the  walls — with  fruit  on  ;  and  there  are 
grapes,  and  two  plants  of  which  I  had  often  heard, — hyssop 
and  rue.  She  tells  us  that  rue  is  very  fatal  to  women  in 
pregnancy ;  she  should  not  dare  to  walk  over  it  were  she 
pregnant.  In  the  court-yard  we  see  a  quantity  of  poultry, 
— chickens,  geese,  and  turkeys.  The  geese  have  just  been 
plucked  ;  in  October  they  will  be  plucked  again  and  sold. 
I  suggest  that  they  are  very  go(Kl  to  eat,  and  she  replies 
that  they  have  a  quantity  of  chickens.  Then  she  takes  us 
to  a  ])ig-house,  where  a  sow  is  lying  upon  her  side  and 
suckling  such  a  litter  of  eight  pigs  as  perhaps  I  never  saw 
before.  How  clean  !  how  plump!  and  generally,  how  strong 
a  curl  in  the  tail  !  Yet  the  mother  does  not  seem  to  me 
of  a  first-class  breed  :  her  snout  is  rather  long.  The  house- 
keeper tells  us  that  she  was  alone  when  the  pigs  were  born, 
and  that  she  received  them  one  by  one,  and  laid  them  into 
a  basket  of  straw,  lest  the  sow  should  crush  them.  Then 
she  cleaned  the  place,  and  put  down  fresh  straw  and  gave 
them  to  their  mother.  They  are  five  weeks  old,  and  she 
has  not  lost  one.  Their  stable  is  cleaned  every  day ;  and 
when  the  pigs  were  little  she  gave  them  fresh  straw  twice  a 
day.  My  admiration  of  her  rises  to  a  high  pitch.  She  has 
opened  a  door  and  shown  us  another  large  garden,  in  which 
two  boys  are  weeding.  She  shows  us  the  engine-room  of 
the  brewery,  and  at  last  the  cattle  in  a  long  stable, — about 
nine  cows  and  two  others.  She  tells  us  how  she  kept  a 
laundry  in  a  city,  and  got  disgusted  because  some  had  not 
paid  her,  and  how,  seeing  the  advertisement,  she  applied 
for  this  place.  She  lived  fifteen  years  in  one  family,  and 
twelve  in  another.  At  length  I  learn  that  she  receives 
money  brought  here,  and  takes  care  even  of  large  sums. 
She  apj)ears  to  have  a  powerful  constitution  :  there  are  few 
such  women.     She  superintends  the  milking,  and  when  the 


366  FRENCH  AND  BELGIANS. 

boy  is  away  herself  milks.  She  sjieaks  of  making  thirty- 
five  pieces  of  butter  a  week :  I  presume  she  means  pounds 
French.  They  have  many  domestics  to  feed,  and  she  sells 
butter.  Going  into  the  house,  I  see  again  the  fine  range, 
which  cost  sixty  dollars,  and  observe  a  Belgian  flat-iron,  so 
made  as  to  slip  in  a  bit  of  iron  heated  red  hot,  which  must 
be  a  much  cleaner  way  of  heating  than  by  this  bituminous 
coal.  The  coal  they  burn  comes  from  Belgium.  Before  we 
leave  I  am  invited  to  come  again,  and  we  fix  on  the  next 
Sunday  afternoon  at  five  o'clock.  When  the  day  comes, 
Mrs.  Salmier  and  I  go  to  fulfil  the  ajipointraent  near  the 
hour  fixed,  entering  the  poultry-yard  as  before,  or  the  large 
court-yard,  uj)on  which  the  house,  the  brewery,  engine- 
house,  stables,  and  one  or  both  garden-gates  open.  The 
small  hired-woman  is  in  the  doorway,  but  the  housekeeper 
is  not  visible  ;  she  has  gone  out,  we  are  told  ;  it  seems  that 
she  does  not  often  go,  but  she  has  gone  to  the  fields.  Well, 
we  ciuinot  visit  her  if  she  has  gone  !  So  we  will  walk  out  to 
see  the  chai)el  of  Madame  Druvet,  on  the  edge  of  the  village. 
That  lady's  burial-ground  immediately  joins  the  public 
cemetery.  We  enter  a  gate,  and  find  ourselves  in  her  very 
neat  enclosure,  which  is  surrounded  by  a  high  hedge,  and 
has  green  grass  and  flowers.  Here  is  a  remarkable  piece 
of  rock-work,  made  out  of  the  flint  pebbles  which  abound, 
and  which  have  fantastic  forms,  resembling  bones.  These 
are  cemented  together ;  flowers  are  planted  upon  the  struc- 
ture; and  above  is  a  large  figure  of  the  crucified  Jesus. 
Within  the  burial-ground  are  two  women, — one  large, 
with  a  dignified  and  somewhat  severe  countenance,  quite 
neatly  dressed,  and  with  a  rosary  in  her  hand,  on  which  is 
a  little  crucifix.  I  look  round  and  make  some  inquiry 
al>out  the  stone-work,  and  something  is  sai<l  about  the  cal- 
vary, as  this  structure  is  called.    The  dignifitd  woman  says 


THE  NORTH.  367 

that  it  is  good  to  have  a  calvary.  I  do  not  feel  much  at  my 
ease,  as  they  can  see  that  I  do  not  cross  myself  nor  patter 
prayer.  In  the  centre  of  the  enclosure  is  a  large  stone  build- 
ing,— large  of  the  kind, — under  which  repose  the  mortal 
remains  of  the  deceased  Druvet  and  his  parents.  The  door 
is  locked,  but  Mrs.  Salmier  looks  into  the  key-hole  and  in- 
vites me  thus  to  view  the  interior.  Then  the  lesser  woman 
— who  seems  to  be  a  servant — puts  a  foot  upon  a  sloping 
portion  of  the  carving,  and  a  hand  in  the  little  window 
above  in  the  door,  and  quickly  is  aloft  where  she  can  look 
in;  and  descending,  I  am  invited  to  take  the  same  manner 
of  beholding ;  but  I  say  no.  If  the  foot-rest  were  broader, 
and  not  so  sloping,  I  might  try;  but  would  I  be  expected 
to  pray  there?  I  walk  round  the  enclosure  and  look 
through  the  hedge,  and  behold  a  distant  village  church. 
The  tall,  diguified  woman  walks  away,  accompanied  by  the 
lesser  one,  without  saying  good-afternoon.  "  Who  is  she?" 
I  ask  of  Mrs.  Salmier.  She  is  an  ex-domestic,  or  house- 
keeper. She  lives  in  the  Retreat,  or  that  house  with  the 
chimneys,  where  Mr.  Druvet,  the  father,  went  to  live  when 
his  son  was  married.  Afterwards  we  go  into  the  adjoining 
cemetery,  where  lesser  dignitaries  have  less  imposing  monu- 
ments. Here  is  that  of  the  Cireau  family,  the  present 
mayor's,  and  that  of  the  vice-mayor,  whose  housekeeper 
was  not  at  home  when  I  went  to  visit  her  this  after- 
noon. Some  of  the  stones  say,  "  In  perpetuity."  Is  this 
to  imitate  Paris  and  P^re  la  Chaise  in  that  amiable  and 
interesting  feature, — reminding  you  that  some  may  not  be 
in  perpetuity  ?  Delightful  thought !  There  is  a  chapel 
here  too,  and  one  or  two  women  are  praying  at  graves. 
One  old  woman  is  down  beside  a  grave.  She  seems  to  be 
tending  the  flowers.  She  rises  and  speaks  to  Mrs.  Salmier, 
and  speaks  sadly  of  her  son  who  is  buried  there;  then 


368  FRENCH  AND   BELGIANS. 

adds,  "Say,  my  cousin,  how  is  your  calf?"  "Oh,"  an- 
swers Mrs.  Sahnier,  "he  is  so  little,  so  little,  you  would 
have  thought  he  was  a  dog."  After  more  talk,  we  turn  to 
go,  and  the  old  woman  to  go  down  on  the  ground  again  to 
dress  the  flowers.  We  had  rain  last  night,  and  I  suggest 
that  it  is  too  damp  for  her.  The  cemetery  is  not  large 
and  is  not  in  such  j)erfect  order  as  Madame  Druvet's  elegant 
enclosure.  Close  by  there  is  a  wind-mill.  There  is,  too,  a 
view.  I  had  spoken  of  it  before ;  I  want  to  see  it  now. 
"Don't  you  have  views  in  your  country?"  rather  coolly 
asks  Mrs.  Salmier.  Nevertheless,  I  get  upon  the  bank 
where  the  wind-mill  stands,  and  look  round  to  count  the 
villages.  The  bright  western  sun  prevents  my  seeing  very 
well ;  but  there  is  a  view  of  the  whole  country  round.  We 
C!in  count  six  villages.  Oh,  could  we  not  see  from  the  top 
of  the  wind-mill?  But  the  door  is  locke<l.  The  mill  is 
coveretl  down  the  sides  with  shingles, — the  first  building 
that  I  have  seen  thus  constructed.  It  is  not  very  large. 
A  great  beam  extends  to  the  ground  at  one  side,  with 
wheels.  This  is  to  turn  the  sails  around  to  catch  the  wind. 
If  we  could  get  to  the  top  of  the  wind-mill,  and  had  a 
telescope,  could  we  not  see  forty  villages?  lleturued  from 
our  Sunday  afternoon  walk,  Mrs.  Salmier  must  get  us  su|)- 
|)cr.  In  the  morning  Mr.  S.,  with  all  the  children,  had 
gone  to  the  field  to  gather  poppies.  Marie  came  back  with 
wet  clothes,  which  her  mother  washe<l  out,  and  Marie  went 
to  mass.  About  dinner-time  the  boys  dressed  for  Sunday. 
In  the  afternoon  Mr.  Salmier  lay  down,  and  after  a  while 
we  went  out  for  our  visit  to  the  brewer's.  But  first  we 
calletl  at  a  relative's  house, — one  who  keeps  an  cafaminet, 
or  a  drinking-place;  and  Mrs.  Salmier  treated  me  to  white 
beer, — l)eer  without  hops, — a  luxury,  six  sous  a  bottle. 
Two  of  Mrs.  Salmier's  sons  were  there,  and  they  came  in 


THE   NORTH.  369 

and  tast€d ;  and  the  woman  of  the  house  took  some  of  the 
beer  wlien  invited.  One  of  tiie  boys — sons  of  Mrs.  Sal- 
niier — was  firing,  for  amusement,  at  a  mark  with  an  ar- 
bal^,  or  cross-bow.  When  we  got  back  from  our  visit 
where  the  housekeeper  was  not  at  home,  and  from  the 
cemetery  and  wind-mill,  Mr.  Salmier  was  up;  and  with  one 
of  his  good  i'riends,  who  had  called,  was  in  the  court-yard 
entrance  making  ties  for  wheat.  Marie  went  to  vespers, 
and  after  the  service  the  three  Sisters  of  St.  Anne  and  the 
school-children  went  to  walk.  They  went  to  Madame 
Druvet's,  and  that  lady  gave  Marie  a  dahlia.  The  dignity 
of  going  to  madame's  will  not,  however,  be  for  me ;  al- 
though, when  I  first  came,  Mrs.  Salmier  spoke  of  taking 
me  there.  But  now  she  knows  what  a  jierson  I  am, — who 
went  into  the  choir  at  Cambray, — and  I  might  not  please 
Madame  Druvet!  Well,  instead  of  supping  at  the  rich 
man's  house, — the  brewer's, — Mrs.  S.  quickly  gets  an  om- 
elet for  supiKT  for  her  husband,  herself,  and  me,  the  sons 
being  still  absent.  Mrs.  S.  also  gives  me  the  regular  bread, 
butter,  and  jelly,  and  the  wine,  which  I  mix  with  water. 
I  take  the  butter  and  jelly  with  trembling,  because  the 
family  do  not  freely  partake.  But  what  delightful  bread 
I  have  in  this  great  wheat  district !  It  is  excellent,  though 
not  very  white, — though  dark,  how  sweet! — with  more 
taste  than  the  Paris  bread;  and  the  price  is  twenty-three 
sous  for  six  jx)unds  French.  Sometimes  Mrs.  S.  makes 
bread  herself.  She  heate<l  her  oven  when  I  was  there 
with  bunches  of  poppy  stalks.  Once  I  saw  her  rub  garlic 
on  the  crust  of  her  dry  bit  of  breiid,  saying  that  this  gives 
one  an  apj)etite.  I  observe  on  a  week-day  how  they  get 
along  in  France  with  so  little  meat;  for  about  four  in  the 
afternoon  the  Salmiers  ate,  while  I,  who  took  butter  at 
dinner,  could  wait  until  six. 


370  FRENCH  AND  BELGIANS. 

I  have  l)efore  spoken  of  tlie  wind-mill.  They  abound  in 
this  part  of  France.  I  visit  this  one  again,  and  observe 
that  the  base  is  of  brick  and  it  is  eight-sided,  each  side 
measuring  something  over  a  yard.  Not  far  from  tiie  wind- 
mill lies  a  millst(mc,  broken  in  two,  and  in  the  open  space 
between  the  pieces  are  growing  wild  poppies,  bUiets,  etc. 
I  see  these  red  poppies,  the  blue  bluets,  and  the  plentiful 
white  flowers  of  the  wild  ciiamomile,  and  I  imagine  that  I 
see  the  origin  of  the  national  tricoh)r. 


Mr.  Salmier's  sons  usually  get  up  about  five  in  the  morn- 
ning,  and  go  to  the  field  carrying  their  breakfast  of  bread, 
cottage  ciieese,  and  beer.  By  cutting  a  slice  quite  thick  at 
one  end,  a  little  hollow  can  be  made  in  one  side  of  the  slice 
to  receive  tiie  cheese,  in  which  no  milk  has  been  mixed;  and 
you  may  add  to  it  salt,  pepper,  and  tarragon,  an  o<loriferous 
herb;  I  observe  once  that  Mr.  Salmier  has  two  little  bulbs 
of  garlic,  which  he  cuts  up  and  puts  in  also.  That  gives 
a  good  taste,  they  think.  Then,  with  a  stoneware  canteen 
of  beer,  they  will  be  ready  for  the  field.  They  sometimes 
use  a  mild  kind,  whicii  they  call  young  beer.  The  boys 
come  in  about  noon  to  ditmer,  and  then  they  take  two 
hours'  rest.  After  dinner  we  generally  have  coffee,  and 
then  the  l)oys  take  out  the  same  as  in  the  morning  for 
their  four-o'clock  meal  in  the  fields, — their  bread,  cheese, 
and  beer.     Then  they  do  not  come  in  until  nightfall. 

On  tiie  Sunday  of  which  I  have  s|)oken  so  much, — the 
Sunday  of  our  unsuccessful  visit, — tiie  young  son  of  Mr. 
and  Mrs.  Salmier,  who  is  in  the  l)ank  in  the  city,  is  at 
home  in  the  afternoon  on  a  visit;  he  is  on  duty  at  the 
bank  until  noon.  He  stays  until  Monday  morning,  but 
must  leave  early  to  walk  into  tiie  city  and  be  in  time  at 


THE  NORTH.  371 

the  bank.  Mrs.  Salmier  comes  to  my  door  to  tell  me  that 
he  is  going,  and  wishes  to  bid  me  good-by.  I  am  up,  but, 
as  I  am  not  dressed,  she  suggests  my  putting  myself  into 
bed.  I  prefer  making  a  sliglit  toilet,  and  am  quickly  out. 
The  rest  of  the  family  are  all  gone  to  the  field.  We  talk 
a  little  while  about  what  I  can  see  in  the  city,  and  on  other 
matters,  and  then  madame  tells  her  son  that  he  must  not 
be  hurried  on  the  road,  and  says,  "  Salute  madame, — em- 
brasse  madame."  Behold,  M'hen  I  offer  my  hand,  the 
slender  youth  salutes  me  on  each  cheek,  which  makes  him 
blush !  

I  think  that  I  understand  more  of  the  patois  here  than  1 
did  farther  south,  but  it  may  be  because  my  ear  is  l)ecoming 
more  accustomed  to  French  sounds.  One  evening  a  woman 
is  in  at  Mr.  Salmier's  to  get  the  certificate  of  the  publica- 
tion of  her  son's  marriage,  they  having  before  received  his 
"act of  birth"  and  the  "act  of  the  decease  of  his  fatiier." 
(Being  dead,  he  cannot  consent  to  the  marriage!)  His 
mother  talks  a  while,  and  I  learn  from  some  one  that  she 
does  not  like  the  marriage,  because  the  young  woman  has 
nothing  and  is  small  and  slender.  But  the  mother  will 
not  refuse  her  consent,  and  put  them  to  the  expense  of 
sending  her  two  respectful  summons,  or  papers  drawn  up 
by  a  notary,  which  the  notary  must  take  to  her,  accom- 
panied by  two  witnesses. 

The  small  and  thin  young  woman,  who  is  to  marry,  has 
no  parents;  so  she  must  j)resent  the»acfe  of  their  decease, 
and  those  of  her  four  grandfathers,  or  their  consent,  if 
living.  Even  a  widow  of  sixty,  with  parents  of  eighty, 
must  present  their  consent,  as  must  all.  This  is  a  long 
preamble  to  the  statement  that  the  old  woman  who  was  in 
at  Mr.  Salmier's  talked  patois,  and  that  she  said  or  pro- 


372  FRENCH  AND  BELGIANS. 

noiincetl  "  Shay  sha,"  which  I  was  able  to  interpret  into 
Cest  cela.  One  day  I  went  out  into  the  fields  to  see  Mr. 
Salniier  and  Marie  gtitliering  poppies  on  one  of  those 
patches  into  which  the  fields  are  generally  divided.  An 
old  woman  was  helping  them  with  the  work.  By  putting 
her  foot  at  the  root  she  was  able  to  break  the  tall  stem  off. 
She  said  something,  and  remarket!  that  I  did  not  under- 
stand, "  shou  que  je  dizo"  or  "  what  I  said."  As  I  return 
from  the  fields,  I  see  children  pulling  weeils  in  the  little- 
used  roadway,  and  they  get  grass,  too,  behind  the  high  wall 
of  the  notary,  to  feed  their  rabbits.  I  walk  on  with  them, 
and  a  woman,  the  mother  of  two  of  them,  invites  me  in. 
She  is  ironing  on  Saturday  afternoon.  She  has  twins,  who 
were  six  months  old  on  the  second  of  the  month,  or,  as  she 
pronounces,"  Ul  deux  de  she  mo  shi," — Le  deux  de  ce  mois-ci. 
On  parting  I  bestow  some  sous,  and  say  "  Good-day."  The 
njother  says,  "Say  good -day  to  madanie,  who  has  given  you 
Sunday." 

As  I  am  drawing  near  the  close  of  my  visit  in  the  north, 
I  wish  to  speak  of  a  few  things,  to  one  of  which  I  have 
before  alhuknl, — namely,  the  great  abreuvoir,  or  watering- 
place,  near  the  centre  of  the  village.  I  know  not  why  this 
limestone  district  should  sutler  from  want  of  water.  Per- 
haps one  rciison  is  because  it  is  limestone,  and  the  rain 
quickly  escai>e8  through  crevices  in  the  rot^k  below ;  and 
can  another  reason  Ikj  because  it  is  so  nearly  treeless?  Mr. 
Salmier  and  I  are  of  one  mind  in  thinking  the  watering- 
place  one  of  the  mast  ancient  things  here.  It  is  deep 
enough  to  cover  a  horse,  or  over  two  yards  at  the  deepest, 
and  they  can  take  their  horses  into  it  to  be  cleaned.  It  is 
rain-water  which  runs  down  from  the  street,  and  is  retainetl 
in  some  way,  to  nie  at  first  very  mysterious ;  but  it  must 


THE  NORTH.  373 

be  by  having  the  bottom  properly  prepared.  It  is  nearly 
surrounded  by  a  fine  low  brick  wall,  built  only  a  few  years 
ago;  before  that  it  was  unwalled,  like  the  little  one  in  our 
court-yard.  The  wall  is  in  form  much  like  a  very  long 
horseshoe.  One  evening  I  stopped  to  see  a  man  wIjo  had 
a  small  cask  on  a  little  sled,  and  straw  in  his  cask.  He 
had  gone  in  at  the  broad,  open  end,  and,  with  trousers 
turned  up,  was  standing  in  this  shallow  part,  putting  water 
into  his  cask.  His  elegant  dark-gray  horse  was  drinking 
and  then  kicking  or  splashing  with  a  front  foot,  as  if  he 
wanted  to  throw  water  over  himself,  while  his  master  called 
him  to  order.  About  the  same  time,  near  nightfall,  a  young 
woman  was  standing  on  stepping-stones  to  fill  her  bucket 
from  the  water.  In  a  dry  summer  they  have  been  obliged 
to  bring  water  to  this  village  from  elsewhere;  as  in  that 
of  1874  or  1875,  when  there  was  no  water  in  this  watering- 
pool,  and  very  little  in  the  wells:  the  commune  paid  about 
sixty  dollars  for  water,  which  was  brought  from  another 
township  in  the  underground  pij)e  by  which  the  beet-juice 
is  conveyed. 

I  hear  mention  of  a  custom  which  is  doubtless  ancient. 
A  certain  person  who  lived  in  this  commune  had  his  farm- 
buildings  burnt,  and  he  obtained  the  pourchcd  of  Paris, 
which  gave  him  the  right  to  take  subscriptions  from  differ- 
ent persons  to  replace  his  losses,  and  also,  I  think,  to  put 
notices  in  newspapers.  This  is  supposed  to  have  made  him 
rich.  In  the  French  Academy's  dictionary  of  1778  the 
noun  pourcAo/ does  not  occur;  but  the  verb  pourcIiasseTf 
which  means  "  to  try  to  obtain,"  is  spoken  of  as  old. 


I  hear  a  jierson  mentioned  as  being  divorced  from  his 

17 


374  FRENCH  AND  BELGIANS. 

wife,  but  of  course  it  is  not  a  divorce,  but  only  a  separation 
of  body  and  goods,  neither  party  being  allowed  to  marry 
again.  He  had  the  habit  of  drinking  and  sometimes  st;iy- 
ing  out  until  midnight,  and  she  remainal  up  for  him.  But 
what  entitled  her  to  the  separation  was  that  some  one  testi- 
fied that  he  struck  her.  The  children  are  divided  between 
the  two  parties,  and  both  sides  have  s|)ent  a  good  deal  in 
litigation. 

The  evening  before  I  leave  this  village,  Mrs.  Salmier 
tells  me  that  there  has  been  a  rumor  that  I  am  a  Prussian. 
She  had  before  told  me  how  Prussians  came  and  quartered 
themselves  in  their  premises  during  the  recent  war.  She 
tells  me  that  I  should  have  been  much  better  received  if 
the  |)eople  had  known  I  was  an  American,  because  they 
like  Americans.  On  account  of  this  rumor  she  did  not 
like  to  take  me  to  Madame  Druvet's.  And,  oh!  she  had 
been  so  frightened  herself  when  that  Prussian  pointed  his 
revolvaire  at  her;  and  how  he  threatened  to  kill  her  if  she 
let  any  one  in  ;  and  before  the  war  the  king  of  Prussia 
"sent  jK'ople  here  to  find  out  about  the  country.  "And  he 
did  quite  right,"  I  say,  "  when  your  emperor  was  trying  to 
get  up  a  fight."  "He  did  right,  you  think  !  But  it  was 
we  who  had  to  suffer!  That  Prussian  did  feel  for  me 
Bome,  for  when  I  was  carrying  a  mattress  for  his  IkhI, — a 
heavy  mattress, — he  said,  *  But,  n»adame,  let  your  son  do 
that.'"  "And  so,"  said  I,  "  the  people  think  I  am  a  spy?" 
She  does  not,  however,  like  to  use  that  word.  But  can 
this  be  tiie  reason  of  our  late  |)eculiar  reception— or  no  re- 
ception— at  the  brewer's? 

To  Paris  1  had  taken  a  very  good  letter  of  introduction 
to  three  prominent  gentlemen.  In  a  more  southern  village, 
of  which  I  have  written,  there  lived  a  gentleman  who  had 


THE  NORTH.  375 

been  several  years  in  Pliiladelpliia,  and  with  whom  I  was 
personally  acquainted;  moreover,  I  was  not  in  a  village  in 
that  region,  but  upon  a  farm.  If  Mrs.  Salmier  had  told 
me  sooner,  I  could  have  produced  letters  in  Fi-ench,  and 
visiting-cards  of  persons  in  Paris,  of  so  much  importance 
as  possibly  to  astonish  Mr.  Cireau,  the  mayor.  But  now  T 
am  about  to  go. 

Before  parting  with  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Salmier,  she  requested 
me  to  write  to  them  on  my  return  home.  I  have  since 
written,  and,  among  other  things,  I  wished  to  know  who 
thought  I  was  a  Prussian,  or  why  they  tliought  so.  In 
reply,  I  received  a  very  neat  letter,  written  in  part  by  Mr. 
Salmier,  and  replying  to  a  question  which  I  had  asked 
about  "acts  of  birth,"  or  certificates.  Mrs.  Salmier  writes 
that  they  were  pleased  in  receiving  word  from  me;  they 
ctmld  prove  to  those  who  doubted  it  that  I  was  really  an 
American  ;  but  no  more  was  said  upon  the  subject. 

It  will  be  remembered  that  Marie  Salmier  could  not  pass 
the  school  examination,  as  she  stated,  because  she  had  not 
her  act  of  birth.  It  must  have  been  in  order  to  prepare 
this  certificate  that  the  mayor's  assistant  asked  so  many 
questions  of  Victor  I^blanc  when  I  accompanied  him  to 
the  oifice  with  his  young  infant.  These  certificates  are  con- 
sidered of  much  importance  in  France,  and  one  of  the  occa- 
sions when  they  are  produced  is  at  a  marriage;  but  Mr. 
Salmier's  letter,  just  alluded  to,  tells  me  that  they  need  not 
l)e  presented  when  both  of  the  parties  to  be  married  live  in 
one  commune. 


IP  ^  K.  T    IV, 
BELGIUM. 


CHAPTER    XXIV. 

On  Tuesday,  August  6tli,  I  leave  France  for  Belgium, 
in  order  to  take  the  steamer  of  the  15th  from  Antwerp 
to  Philadelphia.  I  find  nice-looking  people  in  the  third- 
class  car  going  to  the  Belgian  frontier.  The  car  is  not 
divided.  It  is  disagreeable  that  some  of  the  men  smoke, 
but  an  advantage  when  they  have  only  cigarettes.  Plenty 
of  ecclesiastics  are  to  be  seen  this  morning.  They  have 
their  dreases  looped  up  behind.  One  young  priest  sits 
down  on  the  same  bench  with  me  in  a  passenger- room ;  as 
it  is  warm,  he  has  taken  oif  his  hat,  and  shows  his  siuiven 
crown. 

At  Valenciennes  I  dine  in  a  restaurant  where  a  woman 
presides.  I  have  roast  beef,  the  excellent  brejid  of  the 
north,  butter,  and  wine,  also  a  basin  and  towel,  and  the 
charge  is  fifteen  sous.  At  Valenciennes  I  see  i)ears  three  for 
a  sou,  and  plums  eight  for  a  sou,  which  seem  very  cheap. 
A  young  sjjlesman  in  a  store  is  sufficiently  interested  to 
inquire  whether  I  am  going  by  sea  to  America. 

I  saw  one  coal-mine  while  in  France,  but  in  Belgium  I 
already  see  several,  and  grejit  heaps  of  waste,  as  at  Scranton 
and  Wilkesbarre.     After  England,  Belgium  is  the  greatest 
country  for  fuel  in  Europe. 
876 


BELGIUM.  377 

At  Brussels  wlien  I  inquire  of  a  railroad  officer  for  a 
cheap  restaurant,  he  tells  me  of  Van  Camp's,  and  asks 
whether  I  can  read.  I  find  myself  in  a  country  of  differ- 
ent manners.  A  young  woman  getting  out  of  the  cars  is 
really  asked  hy  a  young  man  whether  he  shall  take  her 
travelling-hag;  and  at  a  railroad  station  this  evening  a 
young  man  who  is  at  the  window  before  me  actually 
makes  way  for  me  to  buy  a  ticket  first.  I  see  a  conspicu- 
ous sign  in  a  station, — Waterloo;  and  I  afterwards  hear 
about  the  English  that  they  go  to  Waterloo  an<l  bring 
back  a  nail  as  a  relic,  all  true  relics  of  the  great  battle 
having  long  since  disappeared. 

I  make  an  inquiry  at  a  station,  and  two  men  are  stand- 
ing who  appear  to  be  officers  of  the  railway.  One  thinks 
I  am  English.  "No."  "Not  French?"  "No."  "Not 
English?"  "No."  "Not  Flemish?"  doubti ugly.  "No." 
"  Holland?"  "No."  The  other  then  suggests  Swiss,  and  one 
of  them  Italian ;  they  had  already  guessed  German.  At 
last  I  say,  "I  was  born  in  Philadelphia,"  for  Philadelphia 
is  known  since  our  Exposition.  The  first  thing  that  T  note 
at  Antwerp  is  carpets  upon  the  floor,  having  left  so  many 
tiled  floors  in  rural  France,  and  tiled  and  waxed  ones  in 
Paris. 

I  am  now  getting  very  near  the  spot  where  the  English 
language  originated.  When  in  the  morning  a  servant-girl 
asks  the  milkman  what  time  it  is,  he  answers,  "Seven." 
She  talks  Flemish.  Then  I  see  proper  names  which  I 
have  heard  in  Pennsylvania, — Conard,  Baetes,  and  Ferree. 
Were  they  brought  to  my  own  State  by  religious  refugees? 
I  also  find  the  name  Pulmann.  I  have  a  very  nice  board- 
ing-place at  Antwerp,  with  a  very  interesting  family,  of 
which  the  mother  is  Belgian,  and  bred  Catholic,  and  the 


378  FRESCH  AND  BELGIANS. 

father  was  English,  and  Protestant.  I  shouhl  like  to  give 
the  real  name,  but  will  ciill  them  Willems.  The  three 
daughters  at  home  si>eak  English,  French,  Flemish,  and 
German.  They  were  instructed — in  part,  at  least — in  con- 
vents. The  two  sons  went  to  foreign  countries  to  school ; 
one  writes  in  six  and  the  otiier  in  seven  languages,  which 
is  of  much  advantage  to  them  in  such  a  commercial  town 
as  Antwerp.  It  was  partly  through  my  friend  in  Paris 
whom  I  have  called  Carpenticr  that  I  obtained  knowledge 
of  this  family,  who  occupy  a  large  and  handsome  house  in 
a  central  part  of  the  city.  All  the  children  were  baptized 
in  the  Catholic  Church,  and  made  their  first  communion ; 
but  they  do  not  practice,  as  the  saying  is.  The  young  men 
belong  to  the  liberal  party  in  politics,  and  are  opposed 
to  the  Catholic,  these  being  the  two  political  parties  of 
which  I  hear  mention. 


People  in  Antwerp  smile  at  the  mistakes  or  peculiarities 
of  strangers  more  than  do  the  Parisians.  There  seem  to 
l)e  (juantities  of  English  here.  I  wish  a  direction,  and 
speak  in  French  to  a  jKjrson  upon  the  street,  but  he  does 
not  understand;  bespeaks  English.  French  is  the  fashion- 
able t^)ngue  in  Belgium,  and,  strange  to  say,  in  this  small 
kingdom  of  about  five  million  people,  two  distinct  tongues 
are  spoken  by  the  peasantry :  one  the  Flemish,  and  the 
other  the  Walloon,  which,  as  I  afterwards  learn  from  Ap- 
pletons'  "  CyclopoKlia,"  is  essentially  the  French  of  the 
thirteenth  century. 

It  seems  to  me  at  Antwerp  that  there  is  a  degradeil  look 
about  the  common  people  as  compared  with  those  of  Paris. 
Taking  the  Belgians  altogether,  as  far  as  I  saw  them,  I 
should  not  call  them  a  handsome  race,  and  the  laboring- 


BELGIUM.  379 

people  at  Antwerp  seem  to  have  a  defeated,  a  beaten-out 
look,  as  if  in  their  lives  there  might  be  much  labor,  little 
pleasure,  and  less  aspiration.  But  if  I  could  talk  Flemish 
with  them,  perhaps  they  would  brighten  up.  Then  the 
wooden  shoes  here  look  clumsy  or  burdensome.  While  on 
a  journey  I  saw  a  woman  at  work  with  a  rake,  bonnetless, 
and  in  rags,  so  different  from  French  tidiness.  I  see  men 
ujwn  an  allotment  of  ground  preparing  to  carry  grain  upon 
handbarrows  or  trays,  as  if  they  had  no  working  animals, 
and  a  man  himself  dragging  a  harrow  on  a  bit  of  ground. 
In  a  village  street  are  little  boys  running  to  pick  up  wet 
horse-manure  with  their  hands.  There  is  a  great  deal  of 
poverty  in  Belgium;  various  pernicious  influences  are  said 
to  have  prcxluced  a  vast  amount  of  pauperism ;  and  it  is 
added  that  in  1857,  out  of  908,000  families,  266,000  (more 
than  one-fourth)  received  support  from  the  state.  In  1876 
Belgium  had  a  population  of  469  to  the  square  mile,  being 
thus  the  most  thickly-settled  country  in  Europe. 


So  long  as  Belgium  possesses  a  landed  aristocracy,  or  a 
few  persons  })osse&sing  a  great  amount  of  land,  we  need 
scarcely  expect  that  republican  institutions  like  our  own 
will  be  established  here;  and  before  proceeding  farther  I 
will  make  some  remarks  upon  the  politics  of  the  country, 
which  will  help  to  explain  what  follows.  A  gentleman  in 
Antwerp,  a  native  Belgian  belonging  to  the  liberal  party, 
was  so  kind  as  to  give  me  some  information  on  the  political 
condition  of  his  country.  Belgium  is  an  independent  king- 
dom; it  had  been  joined  to  Holland,  but  became  independ- 
ent in  1830.  This  revolution,  says  my  informant,  was  not 
necessary,  but  they  wishe<l  to  imitate  France.  Belgium 
has  not  the  right  of  univei'sal  suffrage,  however,  as  has 


380  FRENCH  AND  BELGIANS. 

France.  The  senate  and  lower  liouse  are  elected  directly, 
but  to  vote  for  these  one  must  pay  a  tax  of  over  forty-two 
francs.  Instead  of  the  mayor  of  the  French  townsiiip  or 
commune,  there  is  in  every  commune  a  burgomaster;  and 
•there  are  a  certain  numW  of  councilmen  for  the  commune. 
To  vote  for  this  town-council  a  man  must  pay  a  ti\x  of  ten 
francs  a  year.  This  does  not  seem  very  high, — two  dollars 
or  less, — ^yet  in  Mrs.  Willems'  native  village  of  four  hun- 
dre<l  inhabitants  there  are  only  four  voters.  The  law  re- 
quires, however,  that  there  shall  be  twenty-five  voters  in  a 
township;  and  in  such  cases  as  the  above,  the  twenty-five 
highest  tax-payers  l)ecome  the  voters.  The  greater  part  of 
the  land  in  IJcIgium  is  in  jx)ssessi«)n  of  great  proprietors, 
noble  and  Catholic,  and  the  |>easants  who  rent  their  lands 
have  been  obliged  to  vote  for  their  party.  Hitiierto,  says 
my  informant,  they  have  been  led  to  the  polls  by  the  cur6s, 
or  ])arish  priests,  and  the  ballots  put  into  their  hands,  but 
now  that  is  over.  About  two  years  ago  a  law  was  passed 
to  insure  the  secrecy  of  the  ballot.  Grejit  frauds  have  taken 
place  in  both  political  parties.  The  lil)erals,  it  is  said, 
ciiused  their  clerks  to  declare  their  salaries  two  or  three 
times  as  great  as  they  really  were,  and  by  thus  inca-asing 
their  taxes  made  electors  of  them.  The  clericals  made 
electors  of  farmers,  whose  taxes  were  increase<l  by  many 
fraudulent  pretences,  one  of  which  was  to  declare  one  or 
more  horses  to  Ikj  mixed, — that  is,  both  lal)or  and  Siiddle 
hoi'ses, — by  which  means  thousjinds  of  small  farmers  and 
])eivsiU)ts  are  said  to  iiave  obtained  the  legal  tax  and  iK'come 
voters  even  for  parliament.  Instances  have  been  re(X)rded 
where  one  saddle  wits  |)laced  with  the  village  priest,  each 
of  the  farmers  using  it  in  turn  an<l  riding  proudly  with  it 
iHjfore  tlie  eyes  of  a  tjix-col lector  (very  often  a  clerical  him- 
Helf),  to  prove  that  the  horse  was  a  saddle-horse,  and  that 


BELGIUM.  381 

they  had  the  right  to  be  taxed,  the  mixed  horse  paying  an 
additional  tax  of  ten  francs.  (The  word  clerical,  used 
above,  I  understand  to  be  applied  to  the  Catholic  party  in 
politics,  the  party  to  which  my  acquaintance  is  opposetl; 
he  being,  as  I  have  said,  a  liberal.  Another  person  said  to. 
me  that  these  additional  taxes  were  paid  by  the  Catholic  As- 
sociation.) But  now  these  things  are  done  away  with.  The 
voting  committee,  with  a  certain  number  of  legal  and  sworn 
witnesses,  sit  in  a  room  apart;  each  voter  enters  separately, 
re<;eives  from  the  president  a  ticket,  and  goes  into  a  box, 
where  he  is  left  totally  alone,  having,  as  says  my  friend, 
his  conscience  only  in  that  last  moment  to  direct  his  actions. 

An  Antwerp  gentleman — a  liberal — told  me  that  there 
is  much  danger  in  touching  their  constitution.  Parties  are 
so  nearly  balanced  that,  in  endeavoring  to  extend  the  right 
of  suffrage,  changes  might  be  made  which  they  would  not 
desire.  After  reflection,  I  asked  him  whether  the  liberal 
party  wished  to  extend  the  right  of  suffrage.  He  answered 
that  some  of  the  liberals  are  oj>posed  to  the  measure,  so 
long  as  the  people  are  ignorant  and  led  by  their  priests. 

Although  Belgium  now  has  a  system  of  schools  said 
to  be  next  in  excellence  to  the  Prussian,  yet  thirty-five 
per  cent,  of  the  people  above  forty  years  of  age  do  not  know 
how  to  read  and  write.  The  present  system  was  established 
in  1842.  ______ 

Mrs.  Willems  is  animated  and  fond  of  conversation. 
Although  a  Catholic,  yet  her  husband  was,  as  I  have  said, 
Protestant,  and  her  sons  are  liberal.  She  says  to  me,  "We 
cannot  read  the  Bible  in  our  religion  ;  it  is  prohibite<l.  We 
can  read  it  in  Latin ;  but  if  we  read  it  in  our  own  tongue, 
we  must  confess  it."  She  adds  that  there  are  passages 
which  are  improbable  when  read, — which  would  confuse 

17* 


382  FRENCH  AND  BELGIANS. 

their  minds, — and  says,  "At  the  time  that  the  S[)anish 
governed  our  country  the  Inquisition  was  established  here, 
and  I  think  that  they  also  establishe<l  confession  ;  and  as 
the  Bible  does  not  speak  of  confession,  that  is  why  it  is  not 
•  permitted  to  read  it."  She  is,  however,  far  in  the  wrong 
as  regards  the  Spanish  having  first  established  confession.* 


Mrs.  Willems  tells  nae  that  she  was  at  the  golden  we<l- 
ding  of  one  of  her  father's  cousins ;  and  out  of  twenty 
guests  at  the  table,  fourteen  were  priests.  There  were  also 
four  b^ffuincSf  or  nims,  in  the  family  circle ;  but  they  did 
not  come.  "  I  don't  know  why,"  she  says ;  "  an  especial 
dis|)ensation  from  the  bishop  is  required  for  them."  "And 
what  did  they  talk  al)out?"  I  ask.  "Oh,  about  very  gay 
things.  They  did  not  talk  about  religion.  The  vicars 
went  and  put  on  the  servants'  clothes,  and  had  a  good 
pantomime  in  the  court-yard,  making  believe  play  on  dif- 

*  Since  my  re^yrn  to  this  country,  one  of  my  Catholic  friends  has 
doubled  Mrs.  Willems'  having  spul^cn  to  me  as  above  told, — adding 
that  I  mistook  In-r.  I  have  Butler's  Catechism,  with  the  adtlition  of 
Milner's  Scriptural  Catoohism, — a  work  in  use  in  Catholic  Sumlay- 
schools  here.  The  true  position  of  the  Koman  Catholic  Church  — at 
least  in  our  country  and  Great  Britain — upon  the  subject  of  reading 
the  Scriptures  will  be  seen  by  the  following,  from  the  work  just  men- 
tioned :  "  Question. — Is  it  lawful  for  the  Inity  to  read  the  Holy  Scrip- 
tures? Answer. — They  may  read  them  in  the  language  in  wliich 
they  were  written, — as  likewise  \n  the  ancient  Vulgate  translation, 
which  the  Church  vouches  to  bo  authentic.  They  may  also  read 
them  in  approved  modern  versions;  but  with  due  submissi(m  to  the 
interpretation  and  authority  of  the  Church.  Question. — Have  any 
great  evils  ensued  from  an  unrestricted  reading  of  the  Bible  in  vul- 
gar languagps  by  the  unlearned  and  unstable f  An.swer. — Yes; 
numberless  heresies  and  impieties;  as  also  many  rebellious  and  civil 
wars." 


BELGIUM.  383 

ferent  kitchen  utensils.  They  had  eacli  taken  a  good  bottle 
of  wine."  (The  parish  priest  is  the  cur6 ;  his  assistant,  or 
assistants,  are  vicars.)  "They  talked  a  little  about  Prot- 
estants,— that  they  are  more  serious  than  we;  that  in  Eng- 
land they  observe  Sunday  better  than  we ;  that  the  religion . 
of  the  Protestant  English  is  a  religion  of  their  own,  but 
ours  is  the  true  religion.  There  was  one  priest  who  said 
that  he  was  familiar  with  different  religions,  and  that  there 
are  certainly  good  persons  in  all.  They  argued  about  dif- 
ferent religions;  but  when  one  has  taken  a  good  bottle  of 
wine  the  mind  becomes  confused."  "  And  what  did  you 
do  at  that  golden  wedding?"  I  inquire.  "Madame,  I 
took  a  great  nosegay  of  the  flowers  of  the  fields  to  the 
farmer's  wife, — red  poppies,  bluets,  and  so  on, — ^and  ears  of 
wheat  and  rye.  My  cousin  gathered  and  arranged  them 
for  me.  We  had  a  great  banquet  from  two  o'clock  to  about 
eight,  when  the  priests  went  away.  We  were  at  the  table 
about  six  hours.  We  had  anecdotes  about  the  different 
ways  of  the  villagers.  We  discussed  different  religions, 
but  came  back  to  the  same  point, — that  the  Catholic  is  the 
surest  for  going  to  heaven;  that  outside  of  it  one  cannot 
be  saved.  The  convei'sation  was  general  about  house- 
keeping, farming,  and  all  sorts  of  things."  (Mrs.  W.'s 
narrative  is  animated ;  but  it  will  be  observed  that  there  is 
a  discrepancy  in  the  above.) 


She  adds,  "When  the  weather  is  dry  we  have  public 
prayers  for  rain ;  when  it  is  too  wet,  the  same  that  it  may 
stop;  and  also  in  epidemics.  For  these  things  we  have 
candles,  and  processions,  and  prayers  that  they  may  cease. 
At  this  time,"  she  continues,  "  the  village  priests,  and  those 
in  the  cities,  preach  a  great  deal  about  politics.    My  family 


384  FRENCH  AND  BELGIANS. 

is  liberal,  and  I  do  not  care  to  go  to  I'hurch  to  hear  such 
sermons." 

I  ask  one  of  the  young  ladies  to  repeat  the  Command- 
ments, and  she  gives  me  the  same,  or  a  part  of  those 
rhymed  ones  which  I  saw  in  the  Lyons  prayer-book,  and 
which  I  heard  quoted  in  Paris  and  repeated  in  the  north. 
And,  as  once  l)efore,  the  question  is  asked  whether  I  want 
the  commandments  of  God,  for  there  are  also  command- 
ments of  the  Church,  already  quoted  herein. 

I  have  before  mentioned  how,  in  the  north  of  France, 
Mr.  Salmier  said  that  the  men  tidked  in  church.  Mrs. 
Willems  says  that  there  was,  in  a  Belgian  village,  now 
more  than  twenty  years  ago,  a  cur{'  who  had  a  flock  of 
which  the  men  were  accustome<l  to  leave  the  church  when 
lie  went  up  into  his  chair  of  truth,  or  pulpit.  Observing 
this,  the  cur6  took  off  his  white  surplice,  and  went  around 
to  the  taverns  and  said,  "  When  you  have  finished  drink- 
ing I  will  finish  my  sermon."  Then  they  were  all  afraid, 
and  went  Iwick  to  church.  Their  habit  had  been  not  to 
leave  church  entirely,  but  only  while  the  sermon  lasted, 
and  then  return.  In  the  same  village,  every  .one  went  to 
confession  at  least  once  a  year,  and  Madame  Willems  adds 
that  there  was  in  the  village  a  certain  man  who  was  very 
profane,  and  to  whom  the  cur6  gave  as  a  j)enance  to  rei)eat 
a  certain  numl)er  of  prayers.  But  as  he  could  not  read  and 
write,  he  made  use  of  a  chaplet,  or  rosary.  Once  he  had 
sworn  so  much  that  the  cur6  assigned  to  him  a  penance  of 
sixty  chaplets.  There  was  in  the  same  village  a  certain  old 
woman  name<l  Mafianne,  who  crould  not  work.  She  was 
nejirly  blin<l  and  quite  poor,  and  all  the  sinners,  says  Ma- 
dame W.,  went  to  her  to  get  her  to  pray  their  chaplets;  and 
the  chaiwl,  too,  was  quite  near  her,  where  she  went  to  pray. 


BELGIUM.  385 

Our  swearing  farmer  said  to  the  cure,  "  I  cannot  pray 
tliose  sixty  chaplets ;  I'll  go  to  old  Marianne."  "I  pro- 
hibit your  doing  it,"  said  the  cur6.  "  But,  sir,  you  are 
doing  wrong  to  Marianne,  who  has  no  other  way  of 
getting  her  living."  ''I'll  pay  Marianne  myself,  and  you'll 
pray  the  chaplets."  So  the  cure  went  to  see  the  old 
woman,  and  gave  her  what  money  he  had, — three  francs, — 
and  told  her  that  she  was  not  to  pray  the  chaplets  of  the 
farmer.  Then,  when  the  latter  came  to  her  with  his  re- 
quest, she  told  him  what  the  cure  had  said.  Then  the  man 
began  to  swear  anew,  but,  recollecting  himself,  he  asked 
how  much  the  cur6  had  given  her.  Three  francs  was  all 
at  that  time.  "  Very  well;  keep  them,  and  I  will  pay  you 
a  franc  apiece  for  the  rest,  and  I  will  pray  the  three  my- 
self." They  laughe<l  a  good  deal  about  it  in  the  village, 
and  thought  he  had  paid  high  for  his  chaplets. 


This  cur6  was  rich  and  generous,  and  was  much  loved. 
One  Sunday  there  was  a  man  trying  to  make  a  bargain 
w^ith  a  cattle-dealer  for  a  calf  that  he  wishetl  to  sell.  When 
such  a  bargain  was  on  hand  they  always  adjourned  to  a 
public-house  to  drink.  On  this  occasion  it  was  the  time  of 
vespers  and  the  Salut,  or  Hail  Mary,  and  the  cur6  was  going 
through  the  village,  looking  in  at  the  tavern- windows  to 
see  if  any  one  was  there,  and  he  saw  Philip  and  his  cattle- 
merchant.  "  Why  don't  you  come  to  the  church  for  the 
Salut?  Did  you  not  hear  the  bell ?"  he  said.  But  Philip 
told  him  that  he  was  just  concluding  the  bargain.  "There 
is  a  difference  of  five  francs,  and  I  hope,  if  I  give  him 
something  more  to  drink,  he  will  pay  me  that."  "  Come 
and  pray  the  good  G<xl,"  said  the  cur6,  "and  perhaps  that 
will  inspire  you  with  some  thoughts;  and  let  him  come 


386  FRESCH  AND  BELGIANS. 

too."  When  vespers  were  over  the  cur6  gave  Philip  five 
francs,  and  said,  "  If  the  merchant  pays  you  the  five  francs, 
you  can  bring  this  back  to  me;  but  if  he  does  not,  you  can 
keep  it." 

The  next  day  Philip  went  to  find  tlie  cur6,  and  told  him 
that  the  man  had  not  jmid  him  the  money,  but  he  had  paid 
one  franc  for  the  drinks,  and  one  to  his  son  to  lead  the  calf 
away  for  him.  "And,  Mr.  Cur6,  ought  I  to  make  restitu- 
tion to  you  of  the  two  francs  ?"  "  You  may  keep  them," 
said  the  cui-e.  He  was  a  man  who  was  loved,  and  knew 
how  to  make  himself  respected.  Now  he  is  dead,  and  old 
Marianne,  my  village  acquaintances,  and  he  who  had  his 
chaplets  prayed. 

In  the  Flemish  villages,  dancing  is  not  permitted  by  the 
cur6s  in  many  places.  (Perhaps  Mrs.  W.  means  dancing 
on  Sunday.)  In  Hammes,  a  village  of  ten  thousand  souls, 
the  cur6  does  not  allow  dancing,  but  in  the  Walloon  vil- 
lages it  is  |)ermitted.  (The  Walloon  villages  are  those  in 
which  the  Old  French  is  spoken.)  This  good  cur6,  if  his 
parishioners  came  to  him  and  asUeil  permission  to  dance  at 
the  Kei-messe,  or  village  fdte,  would  say,  "Yes,  you  can 
dance ;  but  do  not  fight,  nor  stay  out  late,  nor  make  any 
scandal."  But  if  they  had  not  obtained  his  permission,  he 
would  punish  them.  The  dance  l)egan  after  the  Salut ; 
the  musicians  begjin  to  i)lay  coming  out  of  the  church,  and 
the  cavaliers  would  join  their  ladies,  and  all  would  walk 
after  the  music  to  the  great  tree  in  the  public  plac^e,  where 
the  dancing  would  begin.  Then  they  would  dance  the 
dance  of  honor,  and  then  go  to  the  end  of  the  village,  with 
some  ten  musicians  at  the  head,  all  in  procession  to  meet 
the  young  people  of  the  neighboring  villages,  and  to  give 
them  the  wine  of  honor,  which  is  only  white  beer;  and  the 
young  people  of  the  neighboring  villages  put  a  white  piece 


BELGIUM.  337 

of  money  on  the  plate,  for  the  expenses  of  the  f(6te.  When 
the  dancing  under  the  linden  was  finishal,  they  went  into 
the  public-houses,  or  to  supper,  and,  returning,  the  dancing 
in  the  restaurants  was  ke|)t  up  sometimes  until  four  in  the 
morning.  The  fSte  lasts  three  days,  but  on  Tuesday  it  is 
the  married  ladies  who  have  the  dance  of  honor,  under  the 
linden  on  the  public  place,  with  the  young  men.  When 
the  violin  weiit  ting  !  ting!  the  young  men  would  kiss  the 
married  women  on  each  cheek,  and  then  everybody  would 
laugh  ;  perhaps  the  husbands  would  be  looking  on.  When 
I  was  young  I  danced  every  year,  and  afterwards  when  I 
was  married,  and  went  back  to  the  village,  I  would  dance 
with  my  children. 

Mrs.  Willems  herself  is  from  the  Walloon  country. 


Not  long  after  my  arrival,  Mrs.  Willems  accompanied 
me  to  visit  an  old  printing-house  at  Antwerp,  now  become 
a  museum.  I  am  told  that  it  belonged  for  about  three 
hundred  years  to  the  family  Plantin-Moretus,  Plantin 
having  bought  it  in  1579.  Moretus  was  the  son-in-law  of 
Plantin,  and  the  printing-house  continued  in  the  same 
family. until  1865.  In  1876  the  city  of  Antwerp  bought 
this  ancient  collection  from  a  member  of  the  family  for 
one  million  five  hundred  thousand  francs,  and  it  was 
opened  as  a  museum  soon  after.  In  the  office  of  the  head 
of  the  establishment,  upon  the  walls,  instead  of  paper,  are 
pieces  of  leather  about  one  and  a  half  feet  long  and  nearly 
as  wide,  sewed  together.  These  are  figured  in  gold  and 
colors.  They  were  found  under  seven  coverings  of  wall- 
paper, and  have  all  been  repaired.  In  another  room  are 
two  printing-presses  of  1540.  Among  many  other  things 
I  see  a  magnificent  Polyglot  Bible  of  1572,  printed  with 


388  FRENCH  AND  BELGIANS. 

the  i^rmission  of  Philip  II.  In  another  place  we  are  shown 
Syriac  and  Saniaritiin  characters,  or  types;  and  the  guide 
says  to  Mrs.  W.,  "  We  read  that  the  good  God  s[>oke  to  a 
Samaritan  woman, — see,  here  are  Samaritan  types."  I  see 
over  a  door  an  inartistic  picture  of  a  man  sitting  at  a  table 
upon  which  there  seems  to  be  a  fowl,  while  he  iiolds  a  loaf 
in  iiis  hands.  The  guide  tells  us  that  it  is  the  good  Go<l, 
who  blesses  ti)e  bread  before  eating,  which  Mrs.  Willems 
explains  to  mean  Jesus  Christ  blessing  the  bread.  And 
here  in  this  connection  I  wish  to  intro<luce  a  little  anecdote 
of  something  that  occurred  elsewhere.  I  asketl  a  young 
lady  at  Antwerp  what  her  brother-in-law  is.  And  quietly, 
much  as  one  might  say  at  home,  "He  is  a  Unitarian,"  she 
replied,  "Atheist." 

I  have  come  to  Antwerp  at  the  time  of  a  great  festival. 
Thursday,  the  15th  of  August,  is  the  four  hundredth  an- 
niversary of  the  guild  erected  in  1478  in  honor  of  Our 
Lady,  patroness  of  Antwerp,  on  the  festival  of  the  Assump- 
tion and  the  ten  following  days.  I  copy  from  the  notice 
the  following,  which  was  in  Flemish,  and  not,  like  the 
former,  in  French  also:  "  Alles  tot  meerdere  Eer  en  Gloria 
van  God  en  van  de  Allerheilijste  Magd  en  moeder  G04I3 
Maria,"  or,  translated,  "  All  for  the  honor  and  glory  of 
God  imd  of  the  most  holy  maid  and  mother  of  God,  Mary." 
There  is  in  the  cathetlral  an  image  of  Mary  and  the  infant 
Jesus,  said  to  be  several  hundred  years  old.  This  iniage  I 
see  in  the  cathedral,  like  a  big  doll,  dreased  in  some  stiff 
material  which  1  infer  to  be  cloth  of  gold. 

At  Antwerp  I  see  a  hearse  go  by.  It  is  black,  and  on 
the  body  is  painted  in  orange  a  sort  of  grave-yard  scene, 
with  two  skeletons  and  other  objects.     Above  at  tiie  corners 


BELGIUM.  3^9 

of  the  hearse  are  gilded  angels.  At  the  time  of  a  funeral 
I  see  a  yellow-fringed  cloth  lying  over  the  cofSn  and  hang- 
ing down  the  sides  of  the  hearse,  nearly  hiding  those 
ghastly  emblems  of  mortality.  A  priest  is  in  the  first  cjir- 
riage,  and  only  men  in  the  others,  but  whether  this  is  the 
universal  rule  I  cannot  tell.  In  a  funeral  procession  I 
see  smoke  issuing  from  a  carriage  window,  for  within 
young  men  have  cigarettes. 


Mrs.  Willems  tells  rae  that  the  country-people  of  Bel- 
gium put  poppy-seeds  into  the  children's  pap  to  make  them 
sleep  while  they  work  in  the  fields.  She  had  l)efore  taken 
me  to  visit  a  creche,  a  sort  of  temporary  infant  asylum, 
where,  among  many  others,  I  saw  a  child,  quite  a  nice  one, 
but  of  a  very  peculiar  appearance, — dark  around  the  eyes. 
I  could  not  undei-stand  the  cause  of  this,  hearing  from  the 
teacher  that  she  had  not  a  bad  habit,  which  I  suspec^ted ; 
but  when  I  hear  about  the  poppy-seeds,  it  strikes  me  that 
this  may  be  the  cause.  Mrs.  Willems  adds  that  in  the 
town  it  is  quite  common  to  give  slaap-drank,  or  sleep- 
drink,  to  the  children  ;  that  hired  nurses  carry  the  bottle  in 
their  pockets  to  keep  the  baby  asleep  (or  children  under 
two  years) ;  and  that  mothers  give  it. 


CHAPTER    XXV. 

DuRiXG  my  stay  at  Antwerp,  Mrs.  Willems  kindly  ac- 
companies me  on  several  excursions  among  the  farming 
population.  We  travel  almost  entirely  by  rail,  and  railway 
travelling  is  cheap  here.     Our  first  trip  is  only  about  three 


390  FRENCH  AND  BELGIANS. 

miles  from  the  city,  and  when  we  alight  at  the  station  Mrs. 
W.  inquires  the  way  of  a  gentleman,  who,  with  a  lady,  lias 
also  got  off  of  tlie  train.  When  he  learns  what  we  are  out 
for,  he  say.s  that  they  are  going  to  visit  a  farm  of  his,  and 
it  is  concluded  for  us  to  accompany  them  ;  but  first  we  mu.'t 
pass  through  the  village,  where  he  is  repairing  a  house.  I 
am  quite  shocked  at  the  station  by  seeing  wagons  drawn  by 
dogs,  holding  peasants  returning  from  market  with  their 
baskets.  I  see  three  persons,  drawn  by  three  dogs  abreast, 
bnt.when  it  comes  to  two  dojjs  drajjjjinjr  two  women,  in  the 
August  heat,  it  looks  worse.  We  meet  many  of  these  dogs 
laboring  along  on  the  stone  pavement  of  the  highway; 
must  not  their  paws  be  sore?.  They  have  a  means  of  ex- 
pression, however,  that  does  not  lx;!ong  to  horses.  I  hear 
a  barking  and  see  a  man  whipj)ing,  for  he  wants  his  team 
to  get  over  the  railroad  track.  Mr.  Pulmann,  as  I  call  the 
gentleman  whom  we  accompany,  says  that  these  people  got 
up  at  one  o'clock  to  go  to  market  at  Antwerp,  and  they 
still  have  a  long  distance  to  go.  He  says  that  they  live  in 
a  poor  country,  where  there  is  a  great  deal  of  sand,  but  he 
afterwards  adds  that  they  are  people  without  care;  they  do 
not  read  the  newspapers,  and  do  not  concern  themselves 
about  what  is  going  on  in  America.  They  bring  eggs, 
butter,  chickens,  and  many  rabbits,  but  probably  not  fruits, 
from  their  country;  and  then  English  dealers  meet  them, 
and  take  their  produce.  Mr.  Pulmann  adds  that  these 
English  agents  come  to  his  farm  to  ask  the  farmer  to  sell 
them  his  fruits  by  the  tree;  they  will  come  themselv&s  to 
gather  them.  He  adds  that  more  agricultural  products  go 
to  England  than  Antwerp  itself  consumes.  Antwerp  is 
sjiid  to  have  one  hundred  and  twenty  thousand  souls,  but 
England  pays  better.  After  passing  through  the  village, 
we  at  length  reach  the  farm  of  Mr.  Pulmann,  and  find  the 


BELGIUM.  391 

farm-house  to  be  a  long  building  of  brick,  with  a  firm, 
excellent  roof  of  osiers,  or  willow,  laid  on  like  thatch, 
and  seven  or  eight  inches  thick.  Such  a  roof  is  said  to  be 
good  for  the  grain,  which  is,  of  course,  kept  in  the  garret. 
The  house  is  very  pleasantly  situated  in  a  grassy  yard,  with 
a  numl)er  of  fine  elms  in  front,  and  some  laurels  or  bay- 
trees  in  tubs,  and  medlars  growing, — fruits  that  are  gathered 
in  November.  In  this  handsome  yard  there  is  no  manure- 
heap,  as  so  often  seen  in  France.  The  bake-house  is  a  sepa- 
rate large  building,  for  fear  of  fire.  It  has  a  tile  roof, 
which  is  cheaj)er  than  the  wkIIow.  The  buildings  and  the 
yard  are  surrounded  by  a  ditch  or  fish-pond,  more  than 
twelve  yards  broad,  in  winter  about  three  or  four  yards 
deep,  and  measuring  about  fifty  yards  long  on  each  side. 
In  it  are  carp,  eels,  and  other  fish.  I  wish  to  know  the 
age  of  the  house.  "  We  will  look,"  says  Mr.  Pulmann ; 
and  when  we  go  to  one  end,  we  find  large  iron  figures  put 
into  the  wall  giving  the  date  of  the  house  as  1615  (or  five 
years  older  than  Massachusetts).  The  ground  here  is  dug 
in  ditches  at  a  distance  from  each  other  of  about  a  yard 
and  a  half;  not  all  the  fields  are  thus  dug,  but  the  wet  ones. 
Land  here  without  buildings  is  worth  about  five  hundred 
and  thirty  dollars  an  acre,  and  when  there  is  competition 
may  run  up  higher  than  seven  hundred.  Farmers  here 
rent  for  money,  the  rent  payable  every  six  months,  and 
amounting  to  about  ten  dollars  the  acre.  The  use  of  the 
buildings  is  thrown  in,  and  the  farmer  pays  all  taxes.  The 
taxes  amount  to  seven  per  cent,  of  the  revenue,  the  govern- 
ment making  an  estimate  once  in  ten  years  of  the  value  of 
the  ])roperty,  and  putting  the  tiixes  at  seven  per  cent.  But 
although  the  farmer  pays  the  tiixcs,  that  does  not  make  him 
a  voter;  he  pays  them  to  the  landlord.  His  tax  on  win- 
dows, two  francs  a  year  for  each,  the  tax  on  his  doors,  on 


392  FRENCH  AND  BELGIANS. 

his  chimney,  on  his  animals, — these  entitle  him  to  vote  for 
bnrgomaster  and  town-council,  but  not  for  deputies  to 
parliament.* 

S<M)n  after  we  get  to  the  farm  the  farmer's  wife  comes  in 
her  Flemish  cap  of  lace  and  clattering  wooden  shoes.  She 
has  a  table  set  for  us  in  the  shaded  yard,  and  she  offers  us 
milk  and  plums, — fine  purple  ones.  She  brings  me  a  well- 
written  letter  from  her  brother-in-law,  who  is  a  priest, — "a 
Catholic  missionary  at  Chicago," — but  as  the  letter  is  in 
Flemish,  I  ciuinot  read  it,  nor  can  I  understand  her.  We 
do  not  see  the  farmer  himself,  but  she  is  preparing  for 
market.  She  has  jjeas  and  apples,  and  j)otatoes  are  stand- 
ing in  a  cart. 

Within  the  house,  in  the  kitchen,  there  is  a  fireplace  as 
large  as  our  old-fash ione<l  ones,  and  within  it  is  a  good 
stove  in  which  they  are  burning  coal.  Mr.  Pulmann  tells 
us  that  the  stove  will  be  removed  in  winter  as  insufficient 
to  keep  them  warm,  and  a  large  wood-tire  built  uj)on  the 
hearth.  I  remark  that  they  ought  to  have  a  stove  to  burn 
the  wood  in,  that  this  is  extravagant.  (I  wonder  whether 
the  reason  can  l)e  that  there  is  no  pipe-hole  cut  in  the 
chimney.)  Mr.  Pulmann  shows  me  where  the  farmer  gets 
his  W(Kxl.  All  or  most  of  the  fields  are  surrounrled  by 
trees,  and  l)etween  the  trees  are  shrul)s  growing.  It  is  the 
trimmings  of  these  shrubs  which  the  farmer  gets  to  burn. 
After  entering  Belgium,  I  was  surprised  to  see  so  much 
wood  ;  but  now  I  infer  that,  owing  to  the  small  size  of  the 
fields,  and  their  Ix-ing  surrounded  with  trees,  the  country 
has  a  woode<l  ap|)esiranoe.  Afterwards  I  find  another  part 
of  Belgium  as  treeless  as  where  I  sojourneil  in  the  north  of 


*  My  impresftion,  from  recollection,  is  that  this  farm  contained 
about  thirty-three  acres. 


BELGIUM.  393 

France.  Where  Belgium  suffei*s  from  too  much  water,  can 
it  be  good  policy  to  surround  the  fields  with  trees?  But 
to  return  to  the  farmer's  kitchen.  On  the  side  opjwsite  to 
the  fireplace,  Mrs.  Farmer  opens  a  door,  and  what  is  my 
surprise  to  find  myself  facing  the  cows.  Near  the  door, 
inside  the  kitchen,  is  a  berth  built  into  the  wall,  and  quite 
short.  This  is  for  the  bed  of  the  farmer  and  his  wife  ; 
and  there  is  in  it  a  kind  of  small  shutter,  which,  when 
opened,  allows  them  to  observe  what  is  going  on  in  the 
stable.  The  stable  is  constructed  in  a  remarkable  manner 
for  saving  the  manure,  but  we  may  doubt  whether  it  is  very 
good  for  the  animals  that  spend  all  their  lives  here.  The 
cows  stand,  with  their  heads  facing  the  house  part,  upon  a 
floor  not  much  longer  than  their  Ixnlies,  and  then  the  floor 
ceases,  and  running  the  length  of  the  centre  of  the  stable 
is  a  deeper  part  for  receiving  the  manure.  Opposite  to  the 
cows,  and  tail  to  them,  and  also  on  a  floor  elevated  ahove 
this  central  porticm,  is  the  horse.  Thus  it  will  be  observed 
how  easily  the  stables  can  be  cleaned.  You  have  only  to 
draw  the  manure  to  the  centre,  and  let  it  fall  into  this  deeper 
part,  where  it  is  thoroughly  protected  from  the  weather. 
Mr.  Pulmann  calls  my  attention  to  the  fact  of  there  being  a 
cask  here  to  receive  the  urine. 

AVe  go  into  the  garden,  which  is  large  and  neatly  kept; 
again  the  ground  is  ditched  and  lying  in  lands  somewhat 
like  those  prepared  for  the  vine  in  the  south  of  France,  or 
in  broad  beds.  This  ditching  is  to  prevent  the  water  or  ice 
from  lying  on  the  garden  in  the  winter.  I  observe  that 
the  currant-bushes  are  cultivated  in  tree  form;  there  are 
many  fruit-trees  and  some  dahlias  and  hydrangeas.  The 
lady  who  accompanies  Mr.  Pulmann  is  his  sister-in-law,  and 
she  tells  us  of  the  family  of  the  farmer's  wife  who  live  in 
the  adjoining  village,  and  who  have  rented  the  same  lands 


394  FRENCH  AND  BELGIANS. 

for  a  very  long  period.  Some  one  having  curiosity  asked 
how  long  they  had  been  there,  and  "  these  brave  folks," 
thinking  that  some  inheritance  was  coming  to  them,  searciied 
their  old  pajjers  and  found  that  these  lands  had  passed  from 
father  to  son  for  four  hundred  years.  All  the  papers  had 
been  saved  concerning  the  rent  of  their  farm.  The  lady 
adds  that  in  tiie  good  old  times  lands  were  rented  for  one 
hundred  years,  but  now  ordinarily  for  ten.  This  lady, 
whom  I  call  Miss  Maulevert,  says  that  the  farmer  can  put 
by  five  hundred  francs  a  year.  He  can  put  it  into  the  bank 
or  with  the  notary,  who  gives  him  three  per  cent.  A  far- 
mer who  wants  to  buy  land,  say  of  the  value  of  one  thou- 
sand francs,  and  has  only  five  hundred,  can  go  to  the  notary, 
who  will  lend  him  the  sum  wanted  at  six  per  cent.;  the 
borrower  can  then  pay  in  small  suras,  the  notary  keeping 
the  papers  until  all  is  paid.  Most  of  the  notaries  are  trust- 
worthy; but,  says  Mr.  Pulmann,  "sometimes  there  is  one 
who  will  take  the  money  and  go  to  see  you  in  America, 
madame."  "Almost  all  our  rogues  go  there,"  says  Mrs. 
Willems.  "  What  part  of  America  are  you  from?"  says 
Mr.  Pulnmnn.  "North  America;  and  where  do  these 
people  go?"  "To  Brazil."  Mr.  Pulmann  has  retired 
from  business.  He  was  a  West  India  merchant,  but  never 
went  thither  himself:  he  ditl  not  like  the  water.  He  and 
liis  sister-in-law  rt)rae  nearly  every  day  to  visit  the  farm. 
There  is  u|K)n  it  a  pavilion  or  long  plain  building  of  wood 
and  glass,  where  they  can  entertain  their  friends,  having  a 
petroleum  stove  in  the  building,  and  bringing  their  two 
servants  with  provisions. 

The  most  profitable  crop  grown  here  is  wheat,  but  the 
great  reliance  of  the  people  is  upon  jjotatocs.  Mr.  Pul- 
mann says  that  when  this  crop  misses  all  goes  wrong 
or  goes  backward.     There  is  only  one  hog  at  this  farm. 


BELGIUM.  395 

and  I  begin  to  ask  whether  I  shall  ever  see  more  than 
one. 

We  learn  of  Mr.  Pulniann  or  his  sister  that  of  three  sons 
he  has  two  ecclesiastics  belonging  to  a  religious  order.  If 
they  are  monks,  I  suppose  the  expression  is  not  strictly  cor- 
rect, but  I  asked  Mr.  Pulmann  whether  his  sons  wished 
to  become  cures,  and  I  understood  him  to  answer  thus: 
"  Yes,  they  had  an  instinct  for  study."  He  does  not  think 
that  they  had  to  study  without  fire,  as  in  the  department  of 
the  north.  They  made  their  preparatory  studies  at  Ant- 
werp and  went  to  the  University  of  Louvain.  The  theo- 
logical seminary  is  at  Mechlin.  Madame  Willems  after- 
wards says  that  Miss  Maulevert  was  speaking  to  her  about 
a  Norwegian  church  at  Antwerp.  Although  Lutheran,  it 
has,  she  said,  the  Virgin  Mary  and  child  in  one  of  the 
painted  windows.  Miss  Maulevert  added,  says  Mrs.  W., 
that  before  fifty  years  almost  all  the  world  will  be  Catholic, — 
England  and  Norway,  but  not  Germany ;  they  are  too  bad. 

We  see  buckwheat  growing,  and  Mr.  Pulmann  tells  me 
that  the  country-people  make  cakes  and  also  thicken  milk 
with  it,  but  there  is  not  much  raised, — it  is  not  a  profitable 
crop.  Mr.  P.  tells  me  that  the  country-people  eat  fried 
potatoes,  that  bacon  and  lard  are  sold  in  great  quantities  in 
Antwerp;  he  docs  not  know  where  they  come  from,  but  one 
of  Mrs.  Willems'  sons  says  that  they  come  from  America, 
and  one  of  her  daughters  says  that  the  country-people  fry  a 
bit  of  bacon,  add  salt  and  pepper  to  the  fat,  and  when  it  is 
cold  spread  it  upon  their  tartine,  or  slice  of  bread,  in  place  of 
butter.     She  adds  that  she  likes  it  herself. 


The  present  king  of  Belgium  is  a  relative  or  near  con- 
nection of  Queen  Victoria.    When  the  Belgians  established 


396  FRENCH  AND  BELGIANS 

their  independence  in  1830  or  1831,  the  crown  was  offered 
to  his  father,  I^eopold  of  Saxe-Coburg,  a  Protestant, 
whose  first  wife  was  the  Princess  Charlotte,  of  England. 
He  afterwards  married  the  danghter  of  Lonis  Philip|)e, 
of  France,  and  their  son,  the  present  king,  is  Catholic. 
His  silver  wedding  was  approaching  when  I  was  in  Bel- 
ginm,  and  the  women  were  raising  a  contribution  to  make 
a  present  to  the  queen.  The  sul)scription  was  not  to  ex- 
ceed five  sous,  and  I  was  told  that  they  had  already  raised 
one  hundred  thousand  francs,  and  all  the  subscriptions 
were  not  in.  It  was  proposed  to  buy  a  crown  and  a  train 
of  lace.  There  was  one  commune  that  sent  back  the  pa|>er 
blank,  the  burgomaster  saying  that  the  women  in  his  vil- 
lage were  too  p(X)r,  which  Mrs.  Willenis  interprets  thus : 
she  says  that  the  nobility  and  the  members  of  the  politiciil 
Catholic  party  are  not  giving  l)ecause  the  king  has  made 
some  decisions  that  favor  the  liberals;  and  that  in  the  vil- 
lage mentionetl,  the  seigneur  was  probably  opposed  to  the 
king  or  to  tJje  lil)eral  party,  and  also  the  burgomaster. 
The  seigneur  could  go  into  the  houses  himself  and  speak 
to  the  |)eopIe,  or  send  his  servant,  or  have  the  cur6  to 
preach  in  the  church.  If  the  cur6  is  not  on  friendly  terms 
with  the  seigneur,  he  can  do  nothing,  because  the  i)easants 
are  dei>endants  of  the  seigneur. 


After  the  Revolution  of  1830,  which  drove  the  Bourbons 
out  of  France,  the  Belgians  revolted  from  the  king  of 
Holland  and  set  up  a  government  of  their  own.  Eng- 
land, Russia,  Austria,  and  the  other  great  powers  of 
Euro|>c  established  them  as  an  independent  kingdom,  and 
made  of  them  a  neutral  nation,  not  obliged  to  join  in  any 
of  their  wars;  which  has  succeeded  so  well  that,  with  a 


BELGIUM.  397 

population  of  less  than  six  millions,  they  have  sixty  thou- 
sand soldiers  to  support.  Belgium  also  has,  as  one  of  her 
sons  tells  me,  to  maintain  defensive  works  to  an  absurd 
extent.  England  once  forced  Belgium  to  build  enormous 
forts  around  Antwerp  to  protect  her  from  France  and 
Grermany,  and  now  Germany  obliges  Belgium  to  build 
more  forts  to  protect  her  against  England  and  France. 
Mr.  Pulraann,  whose  farm  we  visited,  said  that  the  ex- 
penses for  fortifications  are  eating  up  their  ears. 


Belgians  who  desire  to  do  so  can  pay  money  to  the 
government  in  order  to  provide  substitutes  for  the  army 
or  volunteers.  In  advance,  before  the  conscription,  you 
put  in  your  request  for  a  substitute,  paying  at  the  same 
time  two  hundred  francs.  If  you  are  drawn,  you  must 
make  the  sum  up  to  sixteen  hundred  francs;  but  if  not 
drawn,  your  two  hundred  are  returned  to  you.  The  vol- 
unteer or  substitute  who  accepts  this  sixteen  hundred  francs 
must  serve  eight  years.  Those  drawn  in  the  conscription 
must  serve  in  the  cavalry  four  years,  in  the  infantry  two, 
but  they  are  always  liable  to  be  called  on,  if  there  is  need, 
for  eight  years,  dating  from  the  conscription.  After  retir- 
ing from  active  service  they  become  the  reserve.  The  Bel- 
gian soldiers  are  more  coarsely  dressed  than  the  French. 
They  receive  about  three  and  a  quarter  pounds  of  bread 
for  two  days,  and  about  half  a  pound  of  meat  daily,  also 
a  portion  of  potatoes  or  other  vegetables.  They  also 
receive  one  sou  a  day. 


Another  excursion  which  Mrs.  Willems  and  I  make  is  to 
the  great  village  of  B.,  with  a  population  of  eight  thousand. 


18 


398  FRENCH  AND  BELGIANS. 

having  a  Catholic  church  and  chapel.  The  village  is 
mostly  agricultural,  but  there  are  two  tanneries,  five 
breweries,  and  a  dozen  manufactures  of  lace.  Two 
thousand  persons  are  said  to  be  working  at  lace,  so  that 
the  farmers  have  much  trouble  in  hiring  women  to  work 
in  house  and  field.  It  is  in  this  village  that  I  see  l)oys 
with  a  basket,  boys  with  a  wheel-barrow,  picking  up  the 
horse-manure  in  the  street.  The  j^erson  whom  we  go  to 
visit  this  day  holds  an  office  of  some  consequence,  and  has 
about  one  hundred  and  seventy  acres,  part  of  which  is 
polder,  or  alluvial  land,  near  Antwerp,  reclaimed  from  the 
river  Scheldt.  It  furnishes  excellent  pasture.  About 
twenty  of  Mr.  V.'s  cattle  were  out  on  the  poldei'  when  we 
were  there.  Mr.  V.  may  be  called  a  model  farmer.  He 
lives  in  the  village,  but  has  excellent  buildings  on  the 
farm.  He  has  over  forty  medals,  received  at  agricultural 
expositions  within  eight  years;  they  are  of  gold,  of  silver 
gilt,  of  silver,  etc.  I  learn  that  some  of  his  flax-stalks 
measure  not  far  from  a  yard  and  a  half  in  height,  and  I 
saw  a  s|)ecimen  of  oats  measuring  about  five  feet  six  inches. 
He  says  that  this  oat-field  will  bring  him  ninety  bushels 
to  the  acre,  and  oats  this  year  are  worth  sixty-six  cents  a 
bushel  (ten  francs  the  hectolitre).  Mr.  V.  also  tells  me 
that  the  potato  is  their  best  crop,  but  they  still  suffer  from 
rot;  the  heats  of  sinnmer,  followed  by  iieavy  autumnal 
rains,  spoil  the  crop.  Every  year  Mr.  Y.  loses  some,  and 
last  year  about  two  and  a  half  acres.  When  potat(K's  pro- 
duce about  two  hundred  and  ninety  bushels  to  the  acre 
they  are  very  good.  I  learn  from  Mr.  V.  that  there  are 
no  insects  here  which  injure  wheat  in  the  fields:  some- 
thing which  he  ctUls  cancre  eats  it  in  the  barn.  Nor  are 
there  insects  here  that  injure  plums,  but  sparrows  eat  plums 
and  cherries.     Perhaps  they  are  north  of  the  range  of  the 


BELGIUM.  399 

curculio,  or  plum-beetle,  as  Caniula  seems  to  be  north  of 
the  range  of  the  pea-weevil.  We  see  at  Mr.  V.'s  a  hog, 
ten  months  old,  estimated  to  weigh  five  hundred  pounds. 
Mr.  V.  has  more  than  one. 

If  it  be  not  too  great  a  step  from  swine  to  nobility,  allow 
me  to  add  here  that  in  the  same  great  village  with  Mr. 

V.  the  Count  of has  a  residence.     He  has  altogether 

three  residences,  and  is  said  to  possess  al)out  two  thousand 
five  hundred  acres. 

One  more  excursion  Mrs.  Willems  and  I  are  to  take.  It 
is  to  her  native  village;  and  at  the  same  time  we  will  visit 
other  places,  where  different  acquaintances  think  that  there 
are  things  worth  seeing.  And  as  niadame  wishes  to  be 
back  soon,  it  is  concluded  to  start  on  August  11th,  which 
is  Sunday.  We  pass  through  Malines,  and  I  do  not  know 
until  my  return  to  my  own  country  that  it  is  Mechlin.  We 
see  peasants  with  handkerchiefs  or  little  shawls  pinned 
upon  the  crowns  of  their  bonnets,  and  falling  in  folds  on 
their  necks.  The  ends  may  be  pinned  under  the  chin  or 
tied  upon  the  breast.  One  woman,  who  is  quite  well 
dressed,  thus  wears  a  little  yellow  silk  shawl,  with  broad 
yellow  lace  around  it.  It  seems  to  me  that  the  Belgian 
Sunday  more  resembles  ours  than  does  the  Parisian,  but  I 
am  told  at  Mechlin  that  the  stores  are  open.* 

At  one  of  the  stations  that  we  pass,  Mrs,  Willems  says 
that  the  station-keeper  was  a  liberal,  and  that  the  peasants 
signed  a  petition  and  had  him  removed.  Now  he  has  a 
smaller  place.  "  What  for  ?"  I  ask ;  "  there  must  have 
been  a  reason  given."     "  There  was  some  reason  invented. 


*  By  Article  XIV.  of  the  Belgian  Constitution,  no  person  can  be 
forced  to  observe  the  holidays  of  any  religious  body. 


400  FRENCH  AND  BELGIANS. 

We  say,"  she  adds,  smiling,  "  when  one  wants  to  whip  a 
dog  one  can  always  find  a  stick."  I  ask  why  the  peasants 
are  opposed  to  the  liberals,  who  ought  to  be  their  friends. 
"Because  they  think  them  oj)posed  to  religion,  and  the 
curfe  tell  them  that  they  are."  We  change  cars  at  Louvain, 
where  is  the  university,  which  is  Catholic;  but  Mrs.  W. 
says  that  young  men  who  go  to  it  come  out  more  liberal 
than  others.  After  quilting  Louvain,  we  see  on  our  right 
a  fine  stretch  of  agricultural  country,  resembling  France, 
almost  treeless,  and  I  see  beets  growing,  and  stacks  of  grain, 
and  a  great  spread  of  land  M'ithout  houses,  as  in  Le  Nord, 
the  department  of  France  I  lately  left.  We  stop  a  few 
moments  at  Neerwinden.  Here  on  a  great  plain  was  a 
great  battle,  and  thousands  of  soldiers,  Mrs.  W.  says,  were 
buried  in  that  plain.  It  was  one  of  the  battles  of  Louis 
XIV.  War  seenis  to  have  been  a  game  that  he  loved  to 
play  at.  About  here  the  peasants  who  get  into  the  cars 
are  speaking  Walloon,  which  Mrs.  W.  tells  me  is  quite  dif- 
ferent from  Flemish  ;  one  does  not  understand  the  other.* 
We  stop  for  the  night  at  a  flourishing  town,  where  lives 
a  gentleman  to  whom  we  have  a  letter  of  intrwluction. 
When  we  go  to  his  house  he  and  the  family  are  absent,  and 
we  leave  a  note  for  him  at  a  little  shop  near  by.  We  then 
conclude  to  take  up  our  quarters  at  the  Blue  Sheep,  which, 
for  an  obvious  reason,  I  prefer  to  the  Golden  Crown.  Tiie 
house  seems  to  be  kept  by  a  woman  ;  it  is  decent  and  com- 
fortable, but  probably  we  should  have  had  better  butter  at 
the  Golden  Crown.  At  supper-time  we  have  the  company 
of  a  man  of  al)out  thirty,  who  is  stout,  hok  curling  hair, 
and  looks  to  me  like  a  tmvelling  salesman.     Before  eating, 


*  Of  course  there  are  persons  who  spcnk  both.      See  Appletons' 
Cyclopawlia,"  "  Belgium." 


BELGIUM.  401 

he  crosses  himself  twice.  I  do  not  remember  ever  to  have 
seen  a  man  in  France  cross  himself  even  once  before  eating, 
and  rarely  a  woman.  It  turns  out,  however,  that  this 
young  man  at  the  Blue  Sheep  is  a  teacher,  or  is  connected 
with  the  public  schools,  which  are  now  in  vacation.  The 
landlady  thinks  that  he  is  employed  by  the  government. 
He  himself  tells  us  of  a  school  examination  that  is  now 
going  on  here;  but  it  is  private.  He  tells  me  that  Mr. 
Van  Ambek  is  going  to  introduce  a  system  into  all  Bel- 
gian schools  in  imitation  of  that  of  America,  Here  I  am 
told  what  I  have  before  mentioned, — that  public  school  ed- 
ucation in  Belgium  comes  next  to  that  of  Prussia;  it  is  also 
said  to  be  much  more  advanced  than  in  France.  Instruc- 
tion in  the  common  grade  of  public  schools  is  gratuitous; 
and  books  are  given  to  the  indigent,  but  others  must  pay. 

At  this  flourishing  town  we  find,  with  some  exceptions, 
that  the  stores  are  open  this  Sunday  afternoon.  In  one 
window  we  see  showy  red  cotton  handkerchiefs,  bearing  the 
smiling  face  of  Pope  Leo  XIII.,  "Papa,"  and  besprinkled 
with  little  cross-keys;  while  on  a  border  are  larger  ones. 
Mrs.  Willems  buys  one  for  fourteen  sous  to  give  to  an  old 
man  whom  she  is  going  to  visit. 

In  the  morning  we  find  the  gentleman  to  whom  we 
brought  the  letter  of  introduction,  and  he  tells  us  that  he 
was  at  their  country-house  near  the  town,  where  there  is  a 
fine  view;  he  thinks  it  a  pity  that  we  had  not  known 
where  to  find  them.  I  make  an  inquiry  concerning  the 
farmers  here,  and  he  replies  that  they  are  generally  very 
comfortable,  but  they  are  not  the  owners  of  lands;  these 
belong  to  great  seigneurs.  He  is  so  kind  as  to  write  in  my 
note-book  the  names  of  a  few  proprietors,  whence  I  learn 

that  the  Count  of possesses  about  five  thousand  acres, 

rented  to  four  farmers, — except  the  woods,  which  are  re- 

18* 


402  FRENCH  AND  BELGIANS. 

served  for  hunting.  The  count's  family  is  very  old.  Several 
otiiers  are  mentioned  wlio  own  lesser  quantities.  The  town 
in  which  we  are — which  is  handsomely  situated  on  a  river 
— has  grown  up  by  its  great  manufactures  of  iron,  paper, 
etc.  It  has  manufactures  of  zinc  and  of  tiles,  has  tanneries, 
and  one  or  more  distilleries.  In  the  vicinity  are  mines 
of  coal,  iron,  zinc,  and  lead.  In  this  neighborluxxl  almost 
all  are  liberal  in  politics,  except  the  nobility.  In  religion 
all  are  Catholics, — at  least,  nominally.  "  The  nobility," 
says  this  gentleman,  "are  more  opposed  to  liberal  ideas 
than  the  clergy."  "  Then,"  I  say,  "  the  clergy  are  obliged 
to  follow  them  because  they  are  dependent  on  them."  "It 
is  a  chain,"  he  answers.* 

Our  time  this  morning  is  very  limited,  but  I  get  Mr.  P. 
to  call  a  carriage,  and  we  ride  out  to  see  a  farm  belonging 
to  a  lady  whose  husband  is  of  a  distinguished  Antwerp 
family. 

We  see  the  farmer's  wife,  who  is  much  occupietl,  but 
shows  us  round  during  our  brief  stay.  The  floors  that  I 
see  in  the  house  are  of  stone.  There  are  here  about  two 
hundred  and  fifty  acres,  sixteen  worUing-horses,  nine  colts, 
fifty  horned  cattle,  and  fifteen  hogs.  liaising  colts  is  one 
of  their  industries,  and  in  a  horse-stable  I  observe  at  each 
end  a  short  bunk  built  against  the  wall  at  a  considerable 
height,  one  having  a  ladder  by  which  to  go  up.  In  the 
two  sleep  four  men.  It  seems  to  me  that  these  beds  are  too 
short.  The  farmer's  wife,  in  speaking  of  the  colts,  s|)eaks 
also  of  the  m^res,  or  mothers.  Is  this  the  origin  of  our 
word  mare?     We  are  now  in  the  Walloon  part  of  Belgium, 


•  Of  course  Ihe  soigneurs  of  Belgium  have  not  the  old  feudal  privi- 
leges ;  as  I  understand,  tlivy  aru  only  nobles,  with  landed  possessions ; 
nor  ean  the  clergy  be  said  to  be  directly  dependent  upon  them,  for 
they  are  paid  by  the  government. 


BELGIUM.  403 

or,  as  we  may  say,  the  French  part.  At  this  farm  the  ma- 
nure is  not  protected,  as  at  the  one  we  visited  near  Antwerp, 
but  there  is  a  cistern  in  the  barn-yard  to  collect  the  drainings 
of  the  stables,  and  a  pump  to  take  them  out. 

Mr.  P.,  the  gentleman  who  accompanies  us,  asks  me  a  ques- 
tion about  my  country.  When  we  were  preparing  for  the 
journey,  Mrs.  Willems  put  on  a  black  silk,  while  I  wore 
a  black  woollen.  She  says  that  she  must  dress  in  going  to 
her  own  village,  or  the  people  will  be  sure  to  say,  "  They 
must  have  lost  money.  Don't  you  see  that  she  is  not 
dressed  so  well  as  she  used  to  be?"  The  question  which 
Mr.  P.  asks  me  is,  whether  we  occupy  ourselves  much  with 
the  toilet  in  America.  "  Oh,  yes,"  I  answer.  "  At  New 
York  ?"  he  asks.  "  Oh,  in  other  places,"  I  reply.  "  I 
thought  that  perhaps  you  are  too  advanced,"  he  concludes. 
In  this  town  where  Mr.  P.  lives  we  see  little  wagons  or 
trucks  di*awn  by  dogs,  carrying  each  a  small  cask.  He  says 
tliat  these  contain  the  refuse  of  the  distillery,  taken  to  feetl 
animals.  He  says  that  the  ouvriera — by  which  I  suppose  he 
means  the  workingmen  of  the  town — drink  beer  and  gin. 
While  at  the  town,  a  woman  tells  us  that  there  is  a  grotto 
we  ought  to  see,  to  Our  Lady  of  Lourdes.  It  is  in  the  hos- 
pital-yard, close  by  the  great  church,  and,  seeing  the  hospital 
gate  open,  we  go  in.  It  is  an  artificially  constructed  grotto, 
with  a  little  image  of  Bernadotte  kneeling,  and  higher  up 
Mary  without  the  infant  Jesus.  There  is  also  a  box  for 
you  to  put  money  in.  In  the  church  the  altar  is  very  plain, 
except  the  great  painted  window  behind  it.  The  church 
has  two  stoves,  but  Mrs.  Willems  says  that  theirs  at  Ant- 
werp have  none.  One  chapel,  she  says,  has  fire,  but  no 
church  except  the  Protestant  ones.  We  bid  Mr.  P.  good- 
by ;  he  has  been  quite  cordial ;  and  we  make  our  way  by 
rail  to  a  station  about  a  mile  from  the  first  village  at  which 


404  FRENCH  AND  BELGIANS. 

Madame  Willems  intends  to  stop, — a  village  where  live  her 
uncle  and  cousins.  Before  starting  to  walk  over  we  get  a 
simple  dinner  at  a  restaurant  near  the  station,  and  among 
other  things  have  purple  cabbage,  boiled  or  stewed,  with 
vinegar  and  sugar,  and  perhaps  some  fat.  I  do  not  like  it. 
As  we  walk  over  to  the  village,  we  find  two  little  chapels, 
or  shrines,  standing  at  different  spots  along  the  way. 

One  of  our  first  visits  is  to  the  public  school  of  this  vil- 
lage, the  schools  now  being  in  vacation.  Our  arrival  is 
doubtless  an  event  worthy  of  notice,  for  five  boys  in  sabots 
rush  into  the  school-house  yard,  and  soon  aft€r  comes  a  girl, 
also  in  wooden  shoes,  carrying  a  heavy  baby.  Villages  in 
Belgium  are  probably  more  interested  in  strangers  than  our 
own  small  towns.  In  that  great  village  which  we  lately 
visited,  containing  eight  thousand  inhabitants,  I  understand 
some  one  to  say  that  a  large  part  of  the  people  never  visited 
Antwerp,  which  is  only  about  six  miles  distant.  This  seems 
incredible,  but  Mrs.  Willems  says  that  some  of  them  have 
not. 


CHAPTER    XXVI. 

In  the  window  of  the  town-house,  in  one  of  the  villages, 
I  see  important  advice, — a  handbill  with  pictures  of  the 
Colorado  potato-beetle,  and  also  a  box  with  models  of  the 
different  forms  or  stages  of  the  insect ;  but  I  do  not  learn 
that  it  has  ever  l)een  seen  here;  perhaps  it  will  not  visit  so 
high  a  latitude. 

I  see  that  in  one  of  the  villages  which  we  are  now  visit- 
ing the  houses  are  numbered.  Most  of  the  dwellings  here 
are  set  with  their  gable-ends  to  the  street,  without  windows 
towards  it,  or  the  house  faces  u|K)n  a  court-yard  which  is 


BELGIUM.  405 

walled  from  the  street.  They  say  that  in  old  times  houses 
were  set  with  their  backs  to  the  street.  Brewers  are  great 
men  in  these  Belgian  villages.  Out  of  eighty  houses  in 
one  village  which  we  visit,  twelve  are  estaminets  or  drink- 
ing-places.  I  have  before  mentioned  that  I  saw  at  a  farm- 
house a  letter  from  a  priest, — a  Catholic  missionary  at 
Chicago.  Tlie  expression  was  somewhat  amusing;  but  I 
here  learn  that  great  numbers  have  emigrated  from  Bel- 
gium, and  gone  to  the  neighborhood  of  Chicago,  to  Green 
Bay  (not  in  close  nearness  to  that  city). 

We  were  just  going  to  visit  the  public  school,  where  the 
boys  rushed  into  the  yard,  shod  in  wood.  To  this  school 
the  boys  and  girls  go  together,  the  population  of  the  com- 
mune being  four  hundred  ;  but  in  a  neighboring  commune 
which  has  nine  hundred,  and  one  hundred  and  eighty 
scholars,  the  sexes  are  divided.  The  wall  of  the  school 
we  now  visit  is  nearly  surrounded  by  little  colored  pictures 
from  the  Bible, — the  deluge,  the  death  of  Absalom,  and 
others.  A  most  conspicuous  place  is  given  to  the  bust  of 
the  present  king;  there  is  also  a  fine  picture  of  his  Holiness 
Pius  IX.,  a  small  engraving  of  Rubens'  Descent  from  the 
Cross,  and  other  pictures.  The  floor  of  the  school-room  is 
very  neatly  finished  with  cement,  and  a  black-board  oc- 
cupies the  whole  length  of  one  side  of  the  room.  The 
teacher  has  a  map  of  the  province,  one  of  Belgium,  and 
one  of  Europe,  and  these  are  all  that  the  school  possesses. 
I  have  already  mentioned  that  thirty-five  per  cent,  of  the 
people  above  forty  years  of  age  do  not  know  how  to  read 
and  write;  but  from  seven  to  fourteen,  I  am  told  that  all 
children  have  this  amount  of  learning.  The  teacher  tells 
me  that  the  public  can  visit  the  school  when  it  is  not  in 
session ;  but  I  tell  him  that  we  can  visit  ours  when  they 
are  in  session,  both  the  parents  and  the  public,  to  encourage 


406  FRENCH  AND  BELGIANS. 

the  children.  I  might  have  added,  however,  that  ours  are 
not  overrun  with  visitors. 

We  also  make  a  call  upon  one  of  Mrs.  Willems'  cousins, 
who  has  risen  to  the  dignity  of  an  etagc,  or  a  second  story 
to  her  house.  They  are  maiden  ladies,  her  cousins;  there 
were  four  sisters,  none  of  whom  married,  and  the  brother 
was  a  cur6.  The  sisters  have  a  nice  collection  of  cows  and 
calves,  and  they  made  last  week  twenty-four  pounds  of 
butter  (Mrs.  W.  says  that  ordinarily  a  fresh  cow  gives  one 
pound  of  butter  a  day).  In  the  garden  I  see  an  immense 
stalk  of  mullein  growing  as  if  it  belonged  there.  They 
call  it  bouillon  blano,  which  means  literally  white  soup. 
They  gather  the  flowers  to  make  tea,  and  Mrs.  Willems 
says  that  it  is  a  kind  of  tisane,  or  diet  drink,  very  bene- 
ficial to  the  stomach  and  intestines.  And  here  I  may  add 
that  at  Antwerp  one  of  the  young  ladies  was  making  tea 
from  linden  leaves  and  flowers,  as  she  felt  indisposed. 

In  the  garden  of  which  I  was  just  speaking  there  was  a 
plum-tree  with  very  good  fruit.  We  went  under  the  tree, 
and  the  |>erson  accompanying  us  picked  up  a  plum  for  me, 
and  one  or  two  for  Mrs.  Willems.  I  should  have  been 
quite  willing  to  have  more,  and  did  not  know  why  she  did 
not  shake  the  tree ;  but  I  have  since  thought  that  the  fruit 
may  have  been  sold  in  the  manner  before  six)ken  of.  We 
have  many  calls  to  make,  and  do  not  tarry  long  at  the 
house  of  this  cousin.  We  go  to  see  Mrs.  Willems'  uncle, 
who  is  eighty-eight  years  old.  His  daughter  kindly  pre- 
pares us  a  lunch  of  bread  and  butter  and  coffee,  and  a  son 
shows  us  his  ten  bee-hives.  He  is  not  troubled  with  the 
bee-moth ;  he  knows  nothing  about  it.  He  joins  us  and 
accompanies  us  to  the  next  village,  which  is  Mrs.  Willems' 
native  place.  On  our  way  we  call  upon  a  cur(»,  one  of 
Mrs.  W.'s  acquaintances,  and  this  is  my  first  and  last  visit 


BELGIUM.  407 

to  a  Catholic  ecclesiastic  in  Europe.  We  are  })olitely  re- 
ceived, and  there  is  something  agreeable  in  calling  uix)n  a 
gentleman  of  refined  manners,  whose  daily  employments 
do  not  prevent  him  from  having  a  well-kept  hand.  He 
seats  us  at  a  table  in  a  pleasant  sitting-room ;  altogether 
we  are  four,  and  he  produces  a  bottle  of  wine, — French 
wine,  he  says,  twenty  years  in  the  bottle.  He  tells  us  that 
he  wished  to  make  use  of  this  wine  in  the  sacrament ;  they 
are  forbidden  to  use  any  but  pure  wine  in  the  sacrament, 
and  he  had  this  analyzed,  and  it  was  pure.  He  tells  us 
that  the  older  the  wine  is  the  milder;  that  it  loses  its 
alcohol.     Hanging  upon  the  wall  is  a  small  picture  of  a 

noble   lady,  Madame  de  F ,  who  was  a  countess  by 

birth,  but  her  husband  was  a  chevalier.  I  understand 
that  they  had  a  country-seat  here,  and  lived  at  Brussels  in 
the  winter,  and  had  about  five  thousand  acres.  But  she  is 
no  longer  living. 

Mrs.  Willems  speaks  to  Mr.  E.,  the  cur§,  about  one  of 
his  uncles,  also  a  cur6,  who  was  very  gay.  He  is  now 
eighty-five.  "Gay  !"  says  Mr.  E.  "  Mon  Dieu!  how  gay 
he  is !"  He  tells  us  that  when  the  noble  just  mentioned 
was  going  to  have  his  picture  taken  by  a  German,  the 
painter  wanted  to  know  whether  he  had  any  one  to  talk 
with  him  to  enliven  his  countenance.  "  There  is  Mr.  Cur6," 
answered  the  chevalier.  Mrs.  Willems  begins  to  tell  the 
story  about  old  Marianne,  who  "  prayed  the  chaplets"  for 
the  man  ;  but  the  cur6  will  not  accede  to  this  account.  She 
tells  him  what  great  taxes  she  has  to  pay.  "  Make  yourself 
a  cur6,  madame,^'  he  answers.  It  seems  that  upon  his 
windows,  his  doors,  his  stove,  and  so  on,  he  paid  a  tax  of 
sixty-six  francs,  and  the  liberal  party  has  excused  him  from 
paying,  except  for  his  woman-servant,  which  tax  is  eight 
francs  yearly.     The  same  law  releases  him  from  voting  I 


408  FRENCH  AND  BELGIANS. 

I  afterwards  liear  that  the  curb's  house  is  considered  to  be- 
long to  the  municipality ;  he  pays  no  rent  for  it.  A  liberal 
gentleman  in  Antwerp  adds  that,  unfortunately,  the  same 
law  will  deprive  a  number  of  schoolmasters  of  the  right  to 
vote. 

We  also  visit  the  school  in  Mrs.  Willems'  native  district, 
two  villages  being  joined  in  one  commune.  The  walls  of 
this  school-room  we  find  to  be  surrounded  in  part  by  small 
pictures  from  the  different  natural  kingdoms, — animals, 
birds,  and  so  on, — in  the  place  of  the  little  Scripture  scenes 
that  were  in  the  former.  Here  also  is  no  large  map  of  the 
world.  In  speaking  of  the  salaries  of  teachers,  he  whom 
we  are  now  visiting  tells  me  that  the  least  which  the  com- 
mune gives  is  two  hundred  francs,  and  the  least  which  the 
province  and  general  government  also  give  is  one  thou- 
sand; so  the  minimum  of  the  teacher's  salary  is  twelve 
hundred  francs,  besides  his  dwelling  and  almost  always  a 
garden.  The  maximum  in  large  cities  may  amount  to  four 
thousand  francs,  besides  lodging,  fire,  and  light.  He  tells 
me  that  there  are  teachers  in  Belgium  who  have  one  hun- 
dred and  fifty  scholars,  boys  and  girls,  and  no  assistant. 
In  one  of  the  schools  I  visit  something  is  said  about  obli- 
gatory etlucation  ;  but  I  reply  that  we  do  not  s|)eak  much  of 
that ;  adding  in  effect  that  we  try  to  make  our  schools  good, 
and  allow  the  public  to  visit  them,  including  the  parents  of 
the  children,  and  endeavor  to  interest  them  in  their  progress. 


When  we  get  to  Madame  Willems'  village,  many  are 
the  calls  that  she  must  make  !  We  spend  the  night  at  the 
house  of  one  of  her  friends,  Madame  H.,  who  is  a  widow, 
and  whose  son  fiu-ms.  His  wife,  a  pretty-looking  young 
woman,  is  going  to  Brussels  on  the  22d,  to  take  the  queen's 


BELGIUM.  409 

present  for  the  silver  wedding.  One  woman  is  to  go  from 
each  commune.  Madame  H.  herself  is  fine-looking.  She 
seems  to  admire  the  nobility.     She  shows  me  a  picture  of 

mademoiselle  the  Countess  of ,  sister  of  the  noble  lady 

whose  picture  I  saw  at  the  curb's.  I  also  see  a  picture  of 
the  latter  lady's  daughter,  who  is  married  to  Mr.  the  Baron 

of ,  a  man  of'  the  right  kind  !^ — comme  il  faut !    With 

what  an  air  our  hostess  adds,  "  These  are  nobles !"  She 
has  the  pictures  of  the  father,  mother,  and  little  son ;  the 
last  having  a  sword  in  front  of  him,  about  as  long  as 
himself. 

At  Madame  H.'s  house,  the  manure-heap  occupies  a 
good  part  of  the  yard  upon  which  the  house  opens,  and 
seven  or  eight  hogs  are  in  the  yard.  In  the  hall  and 
kitchen  is  a  neat  pavement  of  square  stones,  but  in  the  best 
room  and  bedroom  there  are  tiles  or  bricks.  My  bed  has 
two  good  wool  mattresses,  and  a  straw  bed  beneath.  Mi's. 
Willems  will  not  sleep  with  me,  but  with  her  friend 
Madame  H.,  with  whom  she  made  her  first  communion. 

Lands  here  are  at  over  six  hundred  dollars  the  acre,  and 
sometimes  over  seven  hundred  and  fifty.  Madame  H.'s 
son  tells  me  that  last  year  half  of  their  potatoes  rotted. 
The  rot  has  appeared  here  this  year  also,  worse  than  before, 
it  is  said.  A  good  woman-servant  gets  two  hundred  francs 
a  year,  or  even  two  hundred  and  fifty  (about  fifty  dollars), 
and  works  in  the  field  when  she  has  time.  A  man  gets  as 
high  as  four  hundred  francs. 

In  these  small  communes  the  burgomaster  is  at  the  head 
of  the  police.  He  has  two  aids,  called  ^chevins,  and  there 
are  four  members  of  council.  To  vote  for  these,  I  repeat, 
you  must  pay  a  tax  of  ten  francs,  but  as  in  one  of  the  com- 
munes which  we  have  just  visited  there  are  not  enough 
voters  to  elect  them  (the  law  requiring  twenty-five),  the  law 


410  FRENCH  AND   BELGIANS. 

allows  the  twenty-five  highest  taxpayers  to  be  electors. 
The  only  lawful  marriage  is  that  by  the  burgomaster ;  this 
law  dates  from  1804 ;  doubtless  from  the  empire  of  Najx)- 
leon  Bonaparte.  Madame  H.  entertains  us  at  supper  and 
breakfast.  We  have  bread  and  butter  and  tea  for  supper, 
and  bread  and  butter  and  coifee  for  breakfast.  I  think  it 
is  she  who  inquires  whether  we  have  crejiin  in  my  country. 
At  this  season  of  the  year  her  son  tells  me  that  they  rise  at 
three,  to  take  care  of  the  animals.  Speaking  of  potatoes,  I 
tell  them  that  our  crop  at  my  home  failed  lately,  but  that 
we  have  so  many  other  things, — wheat,  Indian  corn,  and 
turni|)S, — that  we  do  not  mind  the  loss  of  them  much. 

I  tell  them  of  one  of  my  countrymen  who  said,  "  Go 
West,  young  man;  go  West!"  and  Mrs,  Willems  adds, 
"  That  is  what  we  say  here, — go  to  the  United  States." 
This  morning  we  return  to  Antwerp,  Mrs.  W.  being  in 
hast€  to  get  home. 

A  young  lady  in  Antwerp,  familiar  with  peasant  life  in 
the  Walloon  country,  thus  describes  to  me  the  manner  of 
living  among  persons  who  possess  a  little  land,  a  couple 
of  cows,  and  so  on  :  Formerly,  she  says,  the  bread  was  al- 
most entirely  of  rye,  so  that  it  was  difficult  to  find  a  slice 
of  white  bread ;  but  by  degrees  that  has  changed,  so  that 
white  bread  ])revails.  The  morning  meal  is  coffee  and 
slices  of  bread  and  butter,  except  among  those  who  are  not 
always  rich  enough  to  have  butter,  when  the  fat  of  pork  will 
l)e  si)read  as  already  described,  perhaps  with  the  addition  of  a 
little  stewed  apple,  or  sometimes  white  cheese  is  used,  made 
from  sour  milk.  At  dinner  they  have  potatoes  stewed 
with  carrots  or  other  vegetables,  and  followed  by  some 
slices  of  frie<l  pork.  At  four  o'clock  they  take  coffee  again, 
with  the  tartine,  or  spread-slice  before  described.  At  eight 
o'clock  jwtatoes,  {)erha|)s  with  a  sjilad  on  top  and  a  vinegar 


BELGIUM.  411 

sauce  over  all;  or  perhaps  a  green  soup  made  thus:  Take 
half  a  slice  of  bacon  and  fry  it,  and  when  it  is  brown  add 
water,  sweet  herbs  cut  fine,  and  many  potatoes ;  this  should 
cook  for  an  hour  or  two.  Or  sometimes  in  place  of  the 
soup  they  take  buttermilk.  Occasionally  they  drink  beer. 
(I  infer  that  these  four  meals  are  the  summer  custom.) 

When  Mrs.  W.  and  I  are  returning,  we  again  change 
cars  at  Lou  vain,  and  the  language  has  changed  from  Wal- 
loon back  to  Flemish.  I  have  spoken  of  railroad  travel- 
ling being  cheap  here.  In  a  third-class  car  it  cost  eight 
sous  lately  for  two  of  us  to  ride  three  miles.  Probably  the 
abundance  of  coal  makes  travelling  cheaper.  Private  per- 
sons at  Antwerp  pay  about  four  cents  for  the  cubic  yard 
of  gas.  I  hear  Mrs.  W.  telling  of  six  burners  costing  two 
sous  an  hour.  On  our  homeward  journey  I  observe  at  one 
spot  that  the  ground  is  divided  into  little  grass-fields,  sur- 
rounded by  ditches,  and  one  or  both  banks  planted  with 
trees,  for  we  have  got  again  into  the  wooded  country.  In 
looking  off  at  a  distance,  there  seems  to  be  a  great  deal  of 
wood  when  lands  are  thus  divided.  And  again  we  have 
got  where  the  fields  are  thrown  up  into  rounded  divisions, 
about  two  yards  wide,  with  little  courses  between  for  the 
water.  On  a  simple  low  fence  along  the  railway  apple- 
trees  are  trained  very  short,  never  intended  to  grow  high. 
We  are  prohibited  from  walking  on  the  track  here;  we 
must  cross  and  take  a  path. 

On  our  return  to  Antwerp  I  tell  a  liberal  gentleman 
what  the  village  cur6  had  said  and  how  he  is  deprived  of  a 
vote.  The  gentleman  says  that  the  house  is  not  the  curb's, 
but  a  government  property,  and  that  the  law  which  thus 
operates  against  the  village  priests  operates  equally  against 
public  school-teachers,  which  he  admits  is  a  pity.  He  tells  me 
that  the  regular  clergy  are  bona  diahles,  an  expression  which 


412  FRENCH  AND  BELGIANS. 

surprises  rae,  but  he  translates  it  into  Englisli,  good  fellows. 
He  adds  that  if  the  regular  clergy  were  married  they  conKl 
get  along  with  them ;  but  it  is  religious  societies  like  the 
Jesuits  that  they  fear  more.  Universal  suffrage  he  de- 
clares to  [ye  the  remedy  for  these  troubles,  and  as  soon  as 
the  people  can  read  and  write  he  is  willing  or  desirous  to 
extend  the  suffrage;  but  to  do  so  requires  a  change  in  the 
constitution,  and  I  have  before  state<l  that  the  liberals  are 
afraid  to  touch  the  constitution,  lest  it  should  be  made  less 
liberal  than  it  now  is.  Something  is  said  to  this  gentleman 
about  a  cur6  who  has  a  red  face.  He  seems  to  sympathize 
with  the  cur6  in  his  solitude,  but  he  says  that  wine-drinking 
is  the  least  of  the  vices  of  the  clergy.  A  regulation  has 
been  |)assetl  forbidding  their  having  women-servants  under 
thirty  or  thirty-five  years  of  age. 

Mrs.  Wi Hems'  house  is  near  the  great  cathedral  at  Ant- 
werp, where  is  kept  Rul)ens'  celebrated  picture  of  the 
Descent  from  the  Cross.  The  cathedral  is  being  l)edecked 
for  the  great  coming  festival.  The  big  bell  goes  boom ! 
boom  !  the  little  bells  chime  the  quarters,  and  I  was  never 
in  a  city  that  was  so  berung  before.  The  four-hundred- 
year-old  image  has  a  stiff  dress,  and  is  to  be  carried  in  pro- 
cession. In  one  aisle  of  the  cathedral  I  see  six  men  at 
prayer  at  one  time,  and  that  when  there  is  no  service.  One 
has  a  low  chair  in  the  middle  of  the  aisle :  he  kneels  upon 
the  edge  of  this  chair,  and  his  feet  rest  on  the  pavement. 
From  time  to  time  he  moves  his  chair  along  to  face  the 
different  pictures  on  the  wall,  which  are  scenes  from  the 
crucifixion,  probably  what  are  called  the  stations  of  the 
cross.  He  looks  at  his  book  and  looks  at  the  pictures.  Is 
this  public  display  a  |ienance?     What  has  he  done? 

I  see  here  in  the  cathedral  what  I  never  remember  seeing 
before,  namely,  a  man  confessing.     One  scene  in  this  great 


BELGIUM.  413 

cliiircli  was  where  several  of  the  clergy  were  leaving  the 
main  apartment,  the  first  being  a  conspicuous  person  in  a 
scarlet  dress  and  a  ring  on  his  finger,  with  a  great  violet 
stone.  He  was  putting  out  his  hands  to  bless  the  people 
who  stood  in  his  way.  It  is  the  primate  of  Belgium,  Car- 
dinal Deschanips. 

Some  of  the  faces  in  the  cathedral  would  be  a  study  for 
Dore.  One  scene  was  kissing  a  small  metallic  plate.  The 
priest  handed  it  round  and  wiped  it,  and  after  him  was  a 
little  fellow,  perhaps  of  seven  (in  a  white  robe  that  had  been 
whiter),  carrying  a  box  into  which  about  every  second  or 
third  person  dropped  something.  It  seemed  strange  to  me 
to  see  grown  men  in  this  crowd.  I  think  that  some  one 
spoke  of  there  being  a  relic  in  the  little  metallic  thing  which 
they  kissed. 

Another  little  scene  in  the  cathedral  struck  me;  it  was 
on  the  day  before  the  beginning  of  the  great  festival.  A 
man  in  a  black  robe  and  white  half  robe  enters  the  main 
part  from  an  adjoining  room,  where  I  infer  that  the  clergy 
have  been  taking  refreshment  after  high  mass.  As  the 
robed  individual  comes  in,  a  man  in  citizen's  dress  is  going 
out.  The  citizen  winks:  both  stop;  the  ecclesiastic  puts  his 
left  hand  into  his  robe,  takes  out  a  snuff-box,  and  presents 
it  to  the  other.  The  hospitable  village  cur6,  whom  we 
visited,  had  a  silver  snuff-box,  but  he  hesitated  about  pre- 
senting it. 

In  the  cathedral  there  is  a  monument  with  carved  figures, 
— a  person  being  seized  by  Death,  who,  in  the  form  of  a  skel- 
eton, is  laying  his  hand  upon  him.  This  ghastly  evidence 
of  mortality  belongs  to  the  same  class  as  the  yellow  figures 
on  the  black  hearse  of  which  I  have  si>oken.  I  do  not 
remember  seeing  such  in  London  or  Paris.  The  traveller 
will  not  fail  to  observe  a  reidism,  a  grossness,  in  Belgium. 


414  FRENCH  AND   BELGIANS. 

I  ask  a  gentleman  why  the  cathedral  here  is  not  filled 
with  monuments  like  Westminster  Abbey  and  St,  Paul's. 
He  replies  that  it  was  twice  sacked,— once  by  the  Calvinists 
in  1566,  and  once  by  the  French  at  the  time  of  their  Revo- 
lution.* 

Among  the  persons  at  Madame  Wi Hems'  was  a  young 
man,  a  painter,  one  of  the  competitors  for  the  prize  of 
Rome.  He  did  not  gain  it,  but  with  great  good  humor  he 
spoke  in  high  terms  of  the  merit  of  the  painting  which  had 
gained,  and  brought  the  successful  com|>etitor  to  dine  with 
us.  One  year  the  competition  is  in  painting,  another  in 
sculpture,  a  third  in  architecture.  This  year  there  were 
sixteen  competitors,  out  of  which  number  six  were  chosen, 
and  given,  as  the  suiyect  of  a  painting,  the  return  of  the 
prodigal  son.  Each  is  shut  up  alone  until  he  has  made  his 
sketch ;  then  they  may  go  wiiere  they  please  for  three  months, 
during  which  time  they  are  to  paint  the  picture.  He  who 
gains  the  prize  receives  five  thousand  francs  a  year  for  four 
years  in  order  to  visit  Rome,  and  must  send  to  the  govern- 
ment every  year  a  painting  from  that  city. 

It  was  on  the  day  of  the  great  festival  that  the  Vaderland 
steamed  away  from  the  quay  at  Antwerp,  and  that  I  ac- 
com{)anied  her,  returning  to  my  native  land. 

*See  for  a  short  account  of  the  former  Appletons'  "  Cyclopajdia," 
article  "  Iconoclasts,"  and,  for  a  longer  one,  Preacott's  "  Philip  II." 


THE   END. 


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